Page 21 of Cursed By the Love Witch

9

DARCEE

The following day, I arrive at Prue’s door with a basket of baked goods resting in the crook of my elbow.

With a sharp knock, I hear her voice calling me from the other side. Prue’s room has always been a collage of dark fabrics and sparkling tapestries. Her obsidian towers and black spell candles lay discarded atop her desk. An old leather-bound grimoire is open on her desk next to a small pot of ink—incense, and the smell of smoke swirls around me.

Along the far wall, Prue lies tucked into her purple velvet sheets. Next to her is a tired-looking Zander dressed in a wrinkled white shirt and linen pants. Dark circles are under his vibrant eyes, and his usually glowing brown skin has lost some of its luster. My heart gives a painful squeeze.

“Darcee,” Prue says. “I’m happy to see you.”

I raise the basket in my arms.

“I brought treats,” I say lamely.

Zander rises from her side to take the basket from my hand.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “Truly.”

The warlock shakes his head, his braids hitting along his shoulders.

“It’s alright. Prue and I bear some of the burden in our haste to take it. We should’ve double-checked with you.”

Zander settles the basket on the small table next to Prue, snagging a blueberry muffin for himself. He kisses her forehead softly, and I watch my friend practically melt. Their love is apparent; I can almost see it tethering them together.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he says, nodding at me as he slips from the room.

Once he is gone, Prue’s face morphs into a conspiratorial smile.

“You’re fully recovered, aren’t you?” I ask.

She giggles.

“Nearly. I just love how much he’s doting on me.” Her eyes turn dreamy. “Even without the love potion, I’ve felt this shift between us. He’s spent every waking moment with me—making sure I have everything I need—never leaving my side longer than necessary. And I have you to thank for it.”

I meet her smile with one of my own.

“It’s what I do best. Even when I mess up, love still finds a way.”

“Speaking of,” Prue says. Reaching beside her, she opens the table's top drawer and pulls out a small cloth bag. “Here.”

Before she can hand it to me, I hold my hands and wave her off. Prue lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Darcee, take my coins. And don’t tell me it’s too much. You don’t charge enough for your services.”

I swallow. “It’s not about the money. It’s about bringing people together.”

“And you, my selfless friend, have brought dozens of people together free of charge. Allow me, as your best friend, to pay you for guiding me toward the love of my life by helping secure your apothecary so that you may bring even more people together.”

I take the bag from her and tuck it into my pocket. It is far too heavy, and Prue knows she’s been too generous. Regardless, my friend is right: the price of my apothecary is staggering. I have enough to cover the rent for the first month. Buying it would be more financially sound, but I don’t have enough for a down payment. However, through my hard work and dedication, I know I’ll have people flocking to me from all over for my love readings.

I’m manifesting that, at least.

Besides, returning home is absolutely out of the question. With the apothecary, my living accommodations are included in the price. The small apartment above is nothing special, but I’d live in a run-down shed in theWicked Woodsbefore returning to my parents.

A cold sweat breaks out along my skin. Memories flash all more horrible than the last. The yelling, the isolation, the pain…Goddess, I need to stop, lest I won’t sleep a wink tonight. No matter how much I wish things were different—and in moments of desperation, I feel myself reaching for them—my family will never accept me for who I am.

When will I ever make peace with that?

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