Page 11 of Witchy Woman

She glances at me, tightening her hands on the wheel. “Could be any number of things. Spirits, connection to a memory, a message. But despite how you reacted, it may not have been bad. It’s hard to say.”

May not have been bad? It definitely sucked. I’m glad she’s not pressuring me, though. She’s just letting me do my own thing.

“That being said, it may happen again as we train. And I want you to be prepared for that possibility.”

I groan.

“How are you otherwise, dear?”

She’s trying to keep up a conversation today and part of me appreciates that she cares, but part of me misses the silence of yesterday. I used to hate the quiet. I would always be the one to fill it with nonsense. Now? I don’t really have that much to say.

At least, I don’t have much to say to Grandma and Hazel.

“I’m fine,” I reply after a beat. “Perfectly fine.”

She sighs. “As we all are.”

I can’t keep talking about this. I flip my hair over my shoulder, putting on the mask I’m so used to wearing. “How did you find out you were an Earth witch?”

“Mm.” She turns in to the market. “I was raised differently than you and Hazel. My parents were very invested in our bloodline and in our magic, so I was taught how to look out for manifestations from the very beginning. I learned how to test each element, to reach out to each of them and see if they speak to me.”

Like the way fire speaks to me?

A wistful smile blooms on her face, softening the lines etched on her skin and making the years fall away. “One day I was sitting in my mother’s garden and I wished her prized red rose bush had no thorns. Each one of them fell off in an instant.”

My mind twirls around her words as we park and walk toward the market. I have so many questions but I don’t know how to ask any of them. So am I the only one fire speaks to? Does magic work that way? Is something wrong with me? How differently would our lives have gone if Mom nurtured our magic the way Grandma’s parents did?

“Are you going to stay today?” I ask as we approach our booth. Someone to play interference with Ash, even someone as meddling as Grandma, would be lovely.

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you need me to?”

She’s challenging me. And damn it, I’m not a little girl who needs to be coddled.

I shake my head, blonde ponytail moving with it. “Nope. It’s not like it’s hard. I just figured you’d want a break from Hazel.”

“It’s Wednesday. Though she doesn’t teach classes anymore, this is her day off. If you needed me, I’d have just kept the shop closed, but since you don’t...” Her eyes twinkle with mischief. The old schemer.

“Guess I’ll be just fine.” I fake a grin, my eyes already involuntarily moving toward where Ash’s booth usually sits. I don’t see any large, lumbering oafs, though. Which is odd.

“Looking for someone?” She asks, false innocence in her tone.

“Who would I be looking for, Grandma?” If she and Hazel are talking about Ash behind my back, too, I swear to God I will throw someone down a flight of stairs.

Even if it’s myself.

“I may have seen you speaking to a certain woodworker when I was with my friends yesterday. I don’t plan on mentioning him to anyone, though. I am also not going to mention that he usually doesn’t have his booth up on Wednesdays since he drives his father to his appointments.”

“Appointments?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I don’t want to know more things about him. Keeping him at arm’s length is hard enough as it is.

She nods sadly. “Ash’s father, Birch?—”

“BIRCH?”

“Good to know your ears are working, dear. As I was saying—” She cuts me a glare full more of fondness than anger. “Ash’s father, Birch, used to own the woodworking business. Had done ever since his father passed it down to him?—”

“What was his father’s name? Spruce? Oak? Douglas?”

“Up until about a year ago when he was diagnosed with cancer,” she continues as if I said nothing. “Ash was his apprentice at the time, but took over the majority of the business so Birch could focus on treatments.”