Page 95 of Spell Ya Later

Goddamn that’s savage.

Instead of the bitch fit I expect, Laura giggles. A delicate thing, but the first real laugh I’ve heard from her in a very long time. “Touché.”

Before anyone can ruin this moment, I link elbows with both women and continue our walk through the stalls. Maybe the Pruitt-slash-Hollis women can get through this. Maybe we’re strong enough to suffer through multiple deaths and lies and daemons and warlocks and losses of soulmates. Maybe.

“So, to whom are we not referring?” Grandma says as she takes control, leading us toward a white tent-encased booth with multiple paintings set up.

An ear-splitting screech erupts from Laura. “I can’t believe you heard that!”

“At this point I’m pretty sure everyone heardthat,” I mutter. Instead of indulging in what will surely be Spar Part Two between them, I break free and step under the white tent.

Inside is my wildest dream. At least twenty paintings line the sides of the tent and stand on easels in little rows. They’re all different sizes, ranging from above-the-mantel to little-postcards-by-the-register.

And they’re moving.

One of the larger paintings shows a roiling sea with a stormy sky above it. A lighthouse sits in the distance, blinking so subtly I almost don’t catch it. My eyes feast on this painting as if I haven’t eaten in years.

This is what I want.

This is what I’m meant to do.

I’ve struggled so long with who I am, what I am, what I want. Who I want to be. And for once, I know. I know what I want, and it isthis.

I want to create paintings, drawings, sketches that do this. And I want to sell them in my own little booth. Have my own register, my own business cards, my own witchy muumuu.

Okay, no, I don’t want a muumuu. If I ever wear one, I expect Laura to curse me. I’d welcome it.

“I was overcome when I first saw the shop,” Grandma says softly, her hand landing on my shoulder. “It is a beautiful thing, to discover your purpose in life.”

I rub the back of my hand against my cheek, and then the other, clearing the tears. Oh, I’m crying in the middle of a stranger’s business. Yep. Very cool.

“I want to do this, Grandma.” My voice is steady, confident.

Of course I want to do this. I’m having some sort of emotional breakthrough in the middle of a random woman’s stall. But it needed to be said aloud. There’s something powerful in words.

She nods. “Then that is what you’ll do. You will practice and create, and once you are ready, we’ll get you a booth of your own.”

Laura watches the paintings, avoiding looking at either of us. It’s obvious she doesn’t know what to say, and I don’t know what she’s thinking. I used to always know what she was thinking.

Before I can open my mouth, as if summoned by her magic itself, Ash Cedar strolls by. He’s still quite lumberjack-esque, taller than a man ever should be and wide enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if he could lift a car.

He doesn’t say a word, but he brushes Laura’s shoulder ever so slightly as he walks past and she...shudders. Rears back as if she’s been burned.

Interesting.

I’ll be poking that bear later, but for now I stand in awe of what will hopefully soon be mine. A booth where I can sell my paintings. Where I can be happy.

And maybe I’ll be forever alone, but some part of my heart still hopes that Noah will be by my side.

Actually.

“Ash!” I call, running after the hulking figure. I can feel Laura’s displeasure from here, but he’s the only one who can help me.

He slows, turning to face me as I catch my breath. “Yes?”

“I need your help with something.”

Chapter 37