Page 41 of Under Daddy's Spell

“I wonder if there’s something in here for an annoying neighbor. Better yet, to deflate the oversized, he-man ego of a wannabe boyfriend.”

The next section was entitled Dark Spells. Tessa got no further than the first one, which proposed to summon the dead. The notion made her shiver, and she got the same creepy feeling she had while playing with a Ouija board as a kid.

Thinking it was best to put the book away and sell it as quickly as possible, since she drew a hard line at black magic and death, she reached with trembling fingers to close it just as several pages flipped, seemingly on their own.

Tessa jerked her hand away, understandably freaked out.

But her common sense quickly prevailed.

Rather than spirits taking over her store, she reassured herself, “It’s the fan on the air conditioner blowing on high, silly.”

When she reached once again to shut it, the header on the current page caught her eye—Peace and Contentment.

Intrigued, because she could do with a little of both, she scanned the first few lines that listed the potential outcomes for the spell—improve a contentious relationship, smooth over perceived slights, and resolve irreconcilable conflicts.?

It was precisely what she and Jordan needed. But did she dare?

What followed was a recipe for a potion. At first glance, it was short, required only two ingredients, and looked fairly simple.

Not believing for a moment it would work, she decided to give it a try, as the saying went—for shits and giggles.

The first ingredient was seven coriander seeds.

Angie was a bit of a health nut as well as a throwback to the sixties. She liked to use all fresh ingredients and insisted on organic whenever possible. Going so far as zesting her own citrus peels, including lemons from her Meyer lemon tree in her backyard and dried herbs from the window garden in her kitchen.

Tessa had sampled everything before putting it on the menu. The healthy options weren’t bad, especially the three varieties of muffins—blueberry-lemon, whole wheat with Honeycrisp apples from her neighbor’s tree when in season, and fresh peach with coriander.

Crouching in front of the cupboard beneath the prep counter where Angie kept her herbs and spices, she uttered, “Coriander, coriander,” as her fingers hovered over the tall narrow jars. She lifted some and spun others so she could read the labels. “I know I’ve seen coriander.”

Out of the middle of the two dozen bottles, she pulled a tall one with a white cap. “Bingo,” she said when she saw the label, but her enthusiasm died when she held it up. There were only two seeds left.

“Well, crap.” Her eyes went to one of the bottles toward the front. “Cilantro is the same thing. Isn’t it?”

She pulled out her phone. After a quick Google search, she had verification that cilantro was the leaves of the coriander plant.

“Thank you, Wikipedia.”

She stood and, without actually touching it, traced her finger down the page until she came to the next ingredient.

“Water. Easy enough.” But it also called for a straining cloth and a chalice. She rolled her eyes. “Where am I supposed to get a freaking chalice?”

Again, she would have to improvise. Angie often steeped herbs for tea, which she kept in Mason jars in the fridge. Opening the next cupboard over, she grabbed one of the many wide-mouth jars—all the easier for straining—and a square of cheesecloth from a nearby drawer.

Referring to theAshural’sbook once again, she read aloud, “Using a mortar and pestle, crush the seeds while speaking the intended victim’s name three times. The energy put forth will be transferred to the seeds, and herein lies the magic.”

Tessa wrinkled her nose. She didn’t care for the word victim, especially for a peace spell.

“Will you listen to yourself, Teresa Grace?” she muttered. “It’s not like any of this mumbo-jumbo hoodoo-voodoo is going to work.”

The mortar and pestle were a big no. She used Angie’s spice grinder instead. After adding enough dried cilantro to the coriander to make what she estimated were the seven seeds the recipe called for, she flipped the switch. While the grinder did its thing, she repeated, with a healthy dose of skepticism, “Jordan Cooper. Jordan Cooper. Jordan Cooper.”

Then, holding her breath, she waited.

Lightning didn’t flash, nothing sparked, and no abracadabra music played. She wasn’t really expecting it to, but she thought perhaps something might happen. As she looked at the mess on the counter she’d just cleaned, she felt silly. But she’d come this far; she might as well see it through.

The next step called for aproscribed chant while drawing the water.

Since it hadn’t mentioned the chalice, she filled a separate glass with tap water, feeling even sillier as she said aloud, “As these waters ripple, fill our hearts with ease and sanctify this truce for everlasting peace.”

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