Page 22 of Spell Ya Later

“I think I’m ready?” I can’t help the question. It was meant to be a statement, but I’m fully prepared for her to tell me I’ve missed something imperative.

She wordlessly gestures for my bag, and slowly goes through the items as I shuffle from foot to foot.

After what feels like three thousand years, she finally nods. “I think this is a good starting point.”

My breath escapes in a relieved whoosh. My instincts may be able to carry me through the awkward beginner stage better than I initially thought.

“You can go upstairs and experiment on your own for today. Training starts Tuesday. Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday will be our schedule, each evening after dinner.” She smiles. “Now go. Have fun, and I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”

I kiss her cheek and turn to leave without a second look.

There’s a chill in the air as I open the apartment door. It brushes past me purposefully, reassuringly. It raises goosebumps on my skin and settles my nerves all at once; my head is clear.

Thank you, whatever that was.

Settling down on the couch, I empty the contents of my bag on the coffee table. I’m not sure how to arrange the items, so I guess I’ll just figure out what looks good to me. I place the spellbook in the middle and arrange the four candles around it in a circle. The crystals go between the candles, and the herbs surround the book.

It’s rough, but it works. I light the candles using an old matchbook I found in the kitchen cabinet and open the book.

Dishes taking up too much of your precious time? Instead of leaving them in the sink to ‘soak’ overnight and hoping someone else tends to them—clean them in a flash!

Well,then. I have a dirty coffee mug from this morning, so why not?

“Purgo Catino,” I say. Of course, nothing happens.

Nothing happened the first few times with the other spell. What was it that Grandma told me to do? Breathe, relax, let the magic guide me.

Or something. I wasn’t listening when she said it before.

I close my eyes and breathe. The scent of the herbs fills my nose and I lift my hands to feel the gentle heat from the candles.

“Purgo Catino,” I repeat.

I open my eyes to a clean mug.

Chapter 7

Monday Always Comes Too Soon

Noah: Thinking about you this morning. When can I see you again?

Atext from Noah wakes me up better on a Monday than coffee ever could. It’s a butterfly-esque fluttering in my lower belly that has me betting I could float through the rest of the day. Caffeine just doesn’t do the same thing.

I take a sip of the rich, over-creamed liquid I brought in a mug from upstairs. I’m sorry coffee, my love. I didn’t mean it.

I wipe off the glass countertop, clearing some of the dust that settled over the weekend. I was literally just in here last night and there’s already dust.

Hazel: I’m pretty flexible. When are you free?

That’s a lie. I can’t even do the splits without wanting to cry. Laura, on the other hand, did gymnastics for years and can still do a jump-up-in-the-air-and-do-some-twirls-or-something handspring.

Noah: Can I see you tonight? I have a favorite bookstore I’d love to take you to.

A favorite bookstore? He may be actual sunshine in human form. Granted, he’s a writer, so I’m not surprised his kink is books, but I can absolutely get on board.

Hazel: That sounds perfect. Send me the address and we can meet after work.

Speaking of books. Is there anything in one of these books about the electric current between Noah and I? Or about my dreams? Dreaming about moments that didn’t happen surrounding my father’s death sounds pretty witchy woo-woo to me.