Page 32 of Obsession

“No, she wouldn’t talk about what happened. You know me; I asked. But you get your stubborn streak honest from your mama. After her death, it took me a few months before I even stepped foot in her room back at the old house, before you and I moved here. I went through her things and found her tarot cards and her book of shadows. The tarot cards I gave you when you turned sixteen. The book of shadows, well, I never had the heart to open it. I don’t know why, something told me not to look. I put it away years ago. I’m not sure where it is now.”

“I have it. I found it the other day in the library.”

“I made so many mistakes with Cora, but I won’t make the same ones with you. Aubry, stay away from dark magic. I’m begging you,” she says as tears run down her cheeks.

I give her a big hug. “I’m not my mama. And a kitchen witch is a real witch, in my book of shadows, anyway.”

“Just walk away. It’s not too late.”

“It is too late. I have to know the truth,” I say, wiping away her tears.

“That stubborn streak.” She sighs. “Then we need to start working protection spells. Meet me tomorrow morning in the kitchen.”

“Drink this to raise your vibration.” Aunt Callie hands me a shot glass.

Knocking back something green, I cough violently. “What was that?”

“Intuition shot.”

“Next time, I’ll intuitively know not to drink your disgusting juice shots,” I grumble.

We get to work amping up our magical protection, starting by smudging the shop and the apartment, then mixing salt and other herbs to add to the windowsills and doorways.

Grandma lights thyme on a charcoal disk. “If any dark magic spells have been sent our way, this will clear them out.” She hands me a sachet of herbs. “You should have told me the second you started having bad dreams. Put this under your pillow and leave it there.”

I had my dream again last night. It was the same feeling of being confined in a small space, except this time I could make out a muffled voice, but I couldn’t hear whatever it was the person was trying to say.

Returning to the kitchen, Grandma instructs me on making a protection oil. “Anoint yourself with this and you’ll stay safe from magical attacks.” I take a whiff of the finished product and make a face. Patchouli oil stinks to high heaven, but I guess protection comes at a cost.

Later that afternoon, Charlotte and I visit a small florist shop in West Memphis, working our way down the list of Lucy’s current coven members. “Morning, is there something I can help you with?” The sixty-something woman behind the counter greets us.

“Hi, I’m Aubry. You’re Sunny?” I ask.

“That’s me,” she says, a sunny smile to match her name.

“We met at your coven’s Litha ritual.”

“Of course, so nice to see you again!”

“Thank you. This is my friend Charlotte.”

“And hello to you, Charlotte.”

“Hello,” Charlotte says.

“What do I owe the pleasant surprise?”

“I’m thinking of joining the coven, but I just want to see if it would be a right fit for me. Would you have a few minutes to chat?”

“This way, dearies,” she says. We follow Sunny past a wall of coolers containing a rainbow assortment of flowers to a small break room. She motions for us to have a seat at an old farm table. “This is a small town, so I’d rather not have the word get out that I’m a witch.”

“Sure, I understand. How did you become involved with Lucy’s coven?”

“Lucy moved here ages ago and we became friends. I found out she was a witch, and she suggested we form a structured group. A few of the members and I already had an association. Not really a coven, more just the occasional working of rituals together, sharing tools. It was an easy transition.”

I nod. This is the same story everyone has told us thusfar. “What kind of magic do you practice?”

“That’s such a difficult question to answer. We don’t ascribe to one magical school of thought.”

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