Page 39 of Spell Ya Later

A soft smile breaks. “At peace.”

“What did you feel?”

“A breeze that calmed me.” My eyes open.

“There was no breeze, Hazel.” Her eyes twinkle. “I think we’ve found your element.”

Chapter 14

Five Hours and Twenty-Seven Minutes

My foot taps against the counter rhythmically. My date with Noah starts in exactly five hours and twenty-seven minutes. And each second crawls slower than a tortoise. I have been waiting months, years, eons to see him.

Okay, it’s only been a few days since our last date at the bookstore, butughhhhhthis Friday is dragging.

Grandma’s suspiciously quiet in her little hidey-hole with Rosie and there hasn’t been a customer in an hour.

I want to read another book—hopefully about daemons—but just because Grandma is quiet doesn’t mean she’s not watching. She knows all. And I don’t want her to know this. Especially since I promised her I wouldn’t go searching for trouble.

But I can’t ignore the pull in my stomach telling me I need to keep working toward my goal. And the books have what I need.

I hop off the stool and meander my way toward the books, running my fingers along the spines.The Women of The Pruitt Linesits in exactly the same spot as last time, waiting for me to continue along our family tree.

Maybe one of my ancestors fought daemons and I can find some clarification that way?

Nestling the book in the crook of my elbow I allow myself to linger, eyes dancing over the spines. Spells, how-tos, alchemy, gardening, histories...fiction? Grandma wasn’t lying, there seem to be magical writers and novelists.

Maybe the magical world could use one more artist.

Warlocks, Daemons, And Other Evil Beings.

Bingo. That’s the book I want. That’s the book I can’t have. Slipping it underneathThe Women of The Pruitt Line, and then another book underneath and pretending I grabbed it by accident wouldn’t work either.

Grandma’s too smart.

I’ll come back for it when the time is right. When I know more about my element and more about witchcraft. When I know what I’m doing well enough to not get hurt and not alert Grandma.

I’m not going to risk my lessons for anything. Not yet.

Chapter 15

Abigail Pruitt Lawson

Abigail Pruitt Lawson was born in Salem, Massachusetts in 1691. Despite being born to Elizabeth Pruitt, a known practitioner, Abigail wasn’t exposed to the craft personally. Elizabeth sent Abigail and Abigail’s father, James Lawson, away when Elizabeth was charged with witchcraft. Elizabeth was burned at the stake before Abigail’s second birthday.

James Lawson took Abigail to New York and raised her there by himself as a widower. James’s family was from New York, so Abigail was surrounded by family despite not ever getting to know her mother. Abigail was close to her aunt, Charlotte, and her grandparents, Bernard and Victoria.

When Abigail was ten years old, she accidentally levitated food when she was hungry. It was the first manifestation of her magic. James was aware of Elizabeth’s powers, and had been warned before her death that their daughter may share this gift. Elizabeth gave him a letter and her journals in case Abigail shared her magic.

This letter was addressed to Abigail, apologizing for her absence and explaining the focus on secrecy. The journals outlined every spell or discovery Elizabeth had made so Abigail wouldn’t have to discover everything on her own.

These journals became the basis of our modern understanding of magic, heralded globally as the first reliable records on element manipulation and early spellwork, and is what Abigail built upon during her lifetime.

Until his dying day, James protected his daughter and encouraged her honing her craft. He died of old age when Abigail was forty years of age.

Just as Elizabeth swore, Abigail’s powers were more advanced than her own and Abigail took to the craft quickly. With her mother’s journals as guidance, Abigail became a talented daemon hunter and spellweaver. She developed the technique of ‘scrying’—using magic to track someone or something—and used it to pursue daemons across the state.

In 1713, when Abigail was twenty-two years old, she met Christopher Beckett. In her own journals, which were continuations of her mother’s and also published separately, she describes him as the love of her life. Their connection was “buzzing as if like the beat of the wings of a bee”, and they were wed within the year.