Page 21 of Spell Ya Later

Thanks for that.

“Before you start your altar, you need to agree to a training schedule,” she continues. “Practicing with spells on your own is all well and good, but without true training you won’t get far. Are you willing to agree to three times a week?”

I nod without thinking about it. I don’t need to think about it. I want to train and I want to learn. I want everything I missed out on. The frustration from earlier threatens to bubble up again, simmering slowly under my skin. I didn’t miss out on anything, it was stolen from me.

If I don’t see my mother again, it’ll be too soon.

“Where did you go?” Grandma asks.

I shake my head, trying to physically dust off the anger. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll train three times a week. What do I need?”

She raises a skeptical eyebrow, but doesn’t say a word. She gestures to the candles I was looking through.

My fingers trail over them, and I eye the different sizes and colors, breathe in the different scents. My hand stops on one. It’s unscented and carved in the shape of a large white rose.

When I was four years old, it was my first Valentine’s Day with a little sister. Admittedly, I didn’t love that the attention of my parents was now split between the two of us. I was very happy being an only child up to then. My father noticed—of course—and asked me to be his valentine. He brought me home a big, fluffy bouquet of roses and took me out to dinner.

Just the two of us.

These are the candles I want. Roses, for my father. For the man who saw his daughter for who she was, and provided what she didn’t know how to ask for.

“This one.”

“A good choice. Color is important to candle magic. White represents new beginnings, which this certainly is for you. Take a few and put them in here.” She hands me a small bag.

I put four of the candles into my bag and continue toward the herbs, like the book said. Unfortunately, there are even more choices here.

Awesome.

Each herb is labeled with an explanation of its magical properties. Oh Grandma, you saint.

Angelica, protects the home and garden.

Chamomile, attracts money, protects the home, and aids meditation.

Yellow Dock, aids in spells for happy homes.

That seems like the perfect mix for me. A few sprigs of each go into the bag.

“Does a coffee table count as an actual altar, or do I need something fancy?” Possibly a stupid question, but my only experience with witchcraft is sneaking old episodes ofCharmedwhen Mom was asleep.

Grandma snorts, following behind me. “An altar is what you make it. Some are more simple, using coffee tables and such. Some get custom altars made. It’s quite unique to the person.”

Not entirely helpful, but it works. My feet carry me through the aisles, and I hope something will speak to me.

I stop at the crystals. They’re bound to be helpful, right?

Onyx, for focus and discipline.

Amber, for warmth and well-being.

Sodalite, for insight and clarity.

Quartz, for manifesting and improving the power of the other stones.

Two of each make their way into my bag.

An itch crawls along my spine, telling me to go back upstairs. That I’m ready and it’s time. All I have to rely on is my intuition, so I lift my gaze to Grandma.