Page 89 of Spell Ya Later

Chapter 33

Dirt and Honey

He leaves in the morning, just like he said he would, in a quiet retreat. I only know he’s gone because I can’t sleep. So I get the honor of witnessing the door closing behind him.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

Tears splash from my eyes on the knotted wood floor below. Will I ever not ache like this? Will I ever not hurt in that small spot in my rib cage reserved for him? He’s carved out a space there and I know no one else will ever fill it.

“I’ll make us some tea,” Grandma says instead of good morning. Her yellow floral slippers pad along to the iron kettle on the stove.

I sigh, wiping my cheeks. “The strongest stuff you’ve got, please.”

She murmurs a spell under her breath and the stove comes to life instantly. Flames lick at the bottom of the kettle, steam already rising. I sit in a creaky wooden chair, at the matching table in her perfectly sunny breakfast nook, as she opens a particularly witchy cabinet full of herbs, crystals, and things I’ve never seen before.

Is that a small animal skull?

I don’t think I want to know, honestly.

“Why do you have a skull in your cabinet?” Good to know my mouth still functions without my brain as per usual.

A smile breaks on Grandma’s face for the first time since Mom disappeared into a water bubble with a psychotic warlock. “Do you not, Hazel?”

“Was that a joke?” I smile back, the ache still there. It’ll always be there.

She takes a few herbs and grinds them with a mortar and pestle. “An attempt. It’s part of a protection ward I purchased at the market a few years back. I assume it’s nothing more than decoration, but it amuses me.”

It matches her decor well enough. If ever there were a witchy woman, it would be my grandmother. Her and her little cottage in the woods.

She finishes preparing the tea and, bringing two surprisingly bland brown mugs to the table, sits beside me. The scent wafts up and I wrinkle my nose involuntarily.

“What the hell is in this, Grandma?”

“A mixture of amaranth, eucalyptus, marjoram, and valerian root.” She gestures to the raw honey sitting on the table. “You may want that.”

“I realize I asked for your strongest stuff, but why did you pick this mixture exactly?” I lift the steaming cup to my lips and take another whiff.Yeesh.

She sips hers delicately, not even making a face. “Amaranth for repairing a broken heart, eucalyptus for health, marjoram for easing grief, and valerian root for helping couples reunite. The honey is purely for taste.”

Have to give Grandma her credit, she nailed that mixture. Despite it tasting like literal dirt. I pour more honey in, more than is probably appropriate. But I intend to drink this entire damn mug and I can’t do that as is.

The silence is a heavy blanket on top of what is actually a beautiful autumn morning. The sunlight streams through the red and orange leaves of the woods and into the kitchen by way of a large bay window. Even the air smells of crunched leaves and soft ground despite us being indoors. It’s my favorite time of year.

At least it used to be.

I sigh, the sound escaping from the most wounded part of my heart. “What are we going to do?”

It’s the same question I asked last night, and I’m not sure why I expect to hear a different answer. I don’t really, but it would be nice.

She simply shakes her head, two tears slipping down her cheeks, sipping her tea.

Fuck this.

“Well if no one else is going to figure out what the hell we’re supposed to do next, then I’m going to. Because this sucks, and I refuse to let us all wallow.”

Grandma’s eyes raise into her silver hair, but she remains quiet. Allowing me the space to do whatever it is I’m doing.

I swallow more tea and clear my throat. “For one, this whole family rift thing is shit. I don’t like whatever is going on between me and Laura, and I can’t fix that from the apartment.”