Page 90 of Spell Ya Later

“I would agree with that statement,” Grandma says, nodding for me to continue.

Let’s go. “I’m going to move back into the house, and I think you should, too, for a while. We need to heal as a family. I won’t let this be like Dad again. This isn’t going to further separate us. And we’re going to train, teach Laura and myself more about magic so we can be prepared for whatever Draven has planned. Because he will be back, and we need to have something in place for when that happens.”

She nods, a prideful smile replacing the tears on her face. “And Noah? What about him?”

Right as I was getting into the groove, Grandma? Et tu, Brute? The imaginary knife embedded in my chest twists a little deeper at the mention of his name. The crack in my armor.

“I can’t force Noah to talk to me.” My voice cracks over the words, as true as they are. “I can’t force him to be ready. I will always be here, but there’s not much more I can do. He knows where I stand.”

At the very least, I know that to be true. He knows I’m here and I’ll be here for the rest of my life.

“I do hope he comes back, but if he does not...” She places her hand on mine. “I’m on your side.”

My Grandma. In her fuzzy white robe, her thick floral slippers, and with her silver hair piled on top of her head. The most constant person in my life.

“And,” she continues, “I think moving back into the house is a very good idea and I’m happy to accompany you. A woman needs her space, so I won’t stay every night, but I will stay a majority of the time.”

A snort-like sound bubbles from my throat. It’s not a real laugh, I don’t think I’m capable of that right now, but it’s something.

The slight smile on her face falls. “You’re also right about Draven. We haven’t seen the last of him, or the band of daemons he calls brothers. We suffered a major loss yesterday and I will not accept another.”

I merely nod. For some reason, I just can’t wrap my head around Mom. When Dad died, I cried immediately and for days. But this feels different. Maybe it’s because I’m older, maybe it’s because Mom and I were in such a troubled place. It’s different.

I forcefully clear my throat. “I guess I’m on my way back to the house. Think Laura changed the locks on me?”

“Probably.” Grandma stands, taking our empty mugs to the sink. She’s not wrong. Laura would absolutely do something like that, despite the slightest progress we made last night. If anything, it’d be more like her than the woman I spoke to.

“Can you send my stuff back to the house? Someone promised to teach me how but then never did.” I stand as well, shooting her a look.

She at least has the decency to look vaguely guilty. “I’m happy to.”

I guess I should probably brush my rat’s nest of an auburn mess and head over. Right as I reach the bathroom, a thought strikes me.

“Grandma?”

“Yes?”

“Is the house sentient?”

A slight chuckle is my only answer.

Chapter 34

The House is Sad

Grief rolls off my old home in waves. The day may be sunny, but the house is gray and clouded. Makes sense though, considering how much Mom loved this place.

I walk up the stone pathway to the tiny porch, the dark wood double-door entrance. I try my key in the fancy, old-as-hell lock and it opens.

Huh. Guess she didn’t change the locks. Maybe it was too much effort.

I step lightly into the foyer and my heart sinks into my toes. Laura is in mourning, but the ache in the walls comes from the home itself.

I lay a hand on the faded wallpaper. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re talking to yourself now?” Laura asks from where she was apparently watching me at the top of the stairs. She’s in one of the retro sleeping gowns she adores. It’s a lacy, long-sleeved, floor-length thing—absolutely Scarlett O’Hara worthy.

I attempt to smile at her. “The house is sad. Don’t you feel it?”