Page 3 of Witchy Woman

I’m terrified of what else it might start saying.

“Laura!” Grandma calls from downstairs. “Dinner is ready!”

I don’t bother replying, I just leave my things in bags and walk into the hallway and down the staircase.

Grandma has also been staying with us off and on since Mom. She likes to maintain her privacy so she will usually stay for three to four days, work on Mom’s garden for a little bit, then leave for a week.

At the base of the staircase, I can see Grandma and Hazel’s heads are buried together in the kitchen. They’re conspiring so intently they don’t even notice me despite being in plain view. Hazel always used to claim I was Grandma’s favorite, and at one time that may have been true.

Not anymore.

Regardless, I’m hungry, and I’ll endure whatever ridiculous plan they’ve put together for a taste of Grandma’s pork roast.

I walk into the kitchen and grab a plate, startling the two of them. Jealousy rises like bile in my throat at their easy closeness. Closeness I used to have, closeness I don’t have anymore.

Whatever. I don’t care. Not when there’s homemade perfection in the form of fall-apart pork roast, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus, and brown sugar-glazed carrots.

Fucking yum.

“How was the market today, girls?” Grandma asks once we’re all seated. The antique table is worn on the edges from years of use, as are the matching wood chairs.

It feels weird that Mom isn’t here. As much as I don’twanther here, she had such a commanding presence. She took up so much space with her energy it’s as if there’s a black hole where her chair sits.

“Good!” Hazel pipes up. “I think I’ve got everything just about set for my booth next year.”

Whoop-de-doo.

“Laura? What about you, dear?”

“It was fine, Grandma.” It’s so much fun being the boring sister.

I don’t miss the look they share. The ‘Oh, poor Laura, she’s so damaged, what are we going to do about her?’ look. It’s infuriating. I scowl in their direction and stuff a forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth.

“I have an idea I’d like to run past you,” Grandma says. “I was wondering if you’d like to start magic lessons with me and Hazel. I think it’d be prudent for you to begin learning how to harness your magic.”

“Oh, I’m finally invited to sit with the cool kids?” I snark. “Lucky me.”

Anger grows in my chest like a molten bubble in a sea of lava, ready to pop.

“You were always invited to our lessons, Laura,” Hazel says.

“I’m pretty sure my invitation got lost in the mail because I never received one.”

“Laura,” Grandma sighs. She’s lost her fire since Mom. Once upon a time she’d be telling me to take my attitude and shove it. “It’s imperative that you learn how to defend yourself. We have no idea how long it will take for Draven to form a plan and make his next move. Once he returns from being banished to Hell, hewill come for each of us and I refuse to allow you both to be defenseless.”

Defenseless. Her words remind me that I’m the only one of us who still doesn’t know what the fuck they’re doing. I’m the least prepared. The least connected to her magic.

I’m the failure.

The lava bubble pops.

“Well, if you two have already decided, then I don’t have much say in the matter, do I?” I slap my hands on the table. “How about instead of presenting it as a choice, you tell me the truth. I’m going to magic lessons and that’s that.”

Grandma’s eyebrow shoots up.

Good. Get annoyed. Get mad. Fight with me. Show me some sort of emotion instead of the passive bullshit I’ve been getting.

“You will go to magic lessons and that’s that.” Grandma smiles, a snarky thing that makes me feel like I’ve fallen into a trap. “And you will work a booth for The Cat’s Cradle at the market this winter.”