Page 58 of Witchy Woman

That was beyond.

“I don’t really have much of a choice, do I? I have to learn how to communicate fully with Mom so I can find out where she is, and we can figure out how to go get her. As far as a plan? I don’t know enough about all this magic junk to have any idea.”

He scratches at his beard. “I can’t say I have a lot of experience with this either. And I haven’t heard anything about it. I could ask my dad, but I’d be surprised if he knows much more than I do.”

“I have a feeling it’s auniquesituation.”

And I also have a feeling unique doesn’t begin to cover it.

Chapter 26

Dysfunctional As They Come

Grandma asks for some time to ask around about Hell, and she gathers us for a normal family dinner a week later. For that week I spent each night at Ash’s house being fucked against every surface he’s ever imagined.

Turns out the guy has a pretty vivid imagination.

And it’s the best kind of distraction.

Belle is also loving being around Ash. For a guy who claims to be more of a dog person, he certainly spoils the shit out of her. That’s the main reason she’s still there even though I’m at home.

Treats trump chosen witch every time, apparently.

I drop my overnight bag—which has really been an over-week bag—onto the floor in the foyer. While I’m not opposed to wearing no underwear, I really should swap and wash.

“Hey,” Hazel says softly from the couch. She and I haven’t spoken since the night of the bonfire. Not because I’m actively avoiding her, but because I don’t think either of us know what to say to each other.

And I like to think we don’t want a repeat of our fight.

“Hey. Grandma here?” I ask, walking into the living room.

The room is dominated by the giant-ass portrait of our family over the fireplace. It’s gaudy and large and, honestly, we alllook constipated in it. Dad spent the entire time making faces at Hazel and I trying to get us to laugh. He always knew how to make the most mundane activities fun.

The wrong parent died that day.

A tear slips down my cheek. What kind of person thinks something like that? Especially after reading what Mom put in her letter. I thought I was changing, but maybe that slick, oily, angry part of my soul will always be there.

“She’s at the shop, said she’d be back soon.” Hazel leans toward me. “Are you okay, Laura?”

Nope. Not even close.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I flip my hair over my shoulder and sit across from her on the floral armchair.

She shakes her head but doesn’t fight me.

Maybe it’s petty, but why do I have to be the one who’s vulnerable first? Why is it me that has to put their shit on the line? It’s not like she’s over there offering up her insecurities and deepest fears.

Why does Noah have to tell me more about how she feels than she will?

Thankfully the door opens, and Grandma’s lavender-and-smoke scent fills the house. The woman burns so much incense it’s practically soaked into her skin.

“Hello girls!” she says, shucking off her winter coat. “I picked up Chinese!”

The fact she’s so cheery should calm me, relax me, but it doesn’t. It feels like overcompensating, and I immediately don’t trust it.

Lo Mein is High Trouble.

We’re immediately on our feet and setting up for dinner. It’s one of those well-oiled moments that only comes from years of familiarity. We all know who grabs the dishes, the silverware, the drinks. Things have changed a little since Mom, though. Shewas the one who plated dinner, but now Grandma does that. Dad used to put on music. Now we eat in silence.