Page 76 of Witchy Woman

The seconds stretch on as we all stare at each other, willing someone to say something. Willing someone to say that me risking my safety is worth it because Mom deserves it.

I pull Mom’s letter out of my jeans. Belle nudged me until I grabbed it and put it in my pocket this morning, almost as if she knew I would need it. Knew I’d need to explainwhyI can’t just let Mom rot.

I need to figure out just how sentient Belle is.

“Here.” I hand it to Hazel. “Read it. Now, or later, whatever you feel comfortable with. But, despite the mother she was to us...she deserves a chance.”

Hazel holds the letter to her chest before nodding and putting it in her bag.

“So, we’re doing this?” I ask.

Grandma nods, and Hazel follows.

Looks like we’re rescuing Mom in January.

Chapter 34

Wild

New Year’s comes and goes. It’s never been my favorite holiday, but everything seems better with Ash around.

His dad even made his famous mac and cheese. Which in and of itself seems like a simple dish, but that man makes magic. I have no idea how or why, but I will never eat any other mac and cheese in my life.

I’m still thinking about the cheesy deliciousness as the older, wrinkly woman in front of us feeds another live cricket to her creepy lizard. Georgette is certainly a unique character.

Grandma assured us as we walked in that Dotty was friends with this woman and she was totally above board. But the way she’s baby talking this lizard has me side-eyeing the fuck out of her.

We must truly be desperate for information.

Or desperate in general.

“The lizard keeps staring at me,” Hazel whispers from my side. We’re sat together on the woman’s plastic-wrapped couch.

“That’s because it’s weird as fuck,” I whisper back.

She giggles and it’s normal and healthy and I don’t even mind the death glare Grandma shoots our way.

Even that is normal and healthy in a way that makes a little bloom of hope in my chest flare to life.

“You.” The woman’s curved, old-lady finger points at me as she approaches. “You’re the Fire witch.”

It’s not a question, but I nod all the same.

The plastic crackles as she sits down on an armchair across from us. “And you’re hearing voices from the flames.”

Jumping right into it, then. “Yes.”

“The voice of your mother?” She leans forward.

I nod. Yeah, lady, you have the overview.

“It’s not something I have extensive experience with, myself. It’s a very rare thing when the fire speaks to me. It means you have a lot of power within you that you hear them so often. And so clearly.”

Thanks for the compliment, but it’s not super encouraging somehow. Maybe it’s the haunted look in her so-icy-blue-they’re-almost-gray eyes. Maybe it’s the fear in the thin line of her mouth.

“What you hear are the souls in Hell, begging for your help to be released. It’s not surprising that you connected with your mother, as your souls already know each other. I expect the intention is to attempt to rescue her?”

Grandma’s hand is on her throat, rigid shoulders stock-still. “Yes, if possible.”