Page 102 of Strike It Witch

They left with a promise to check on me in the morning.

Fennel skulked out from behind a mesquite tree. He was alone, so Cecil must’ve returned to the garden room after they’d finished patrolling the Siete Saguaros.

“Did the wards hold?” I asked. “Is everyone safe?”

“Meow.”

“That’s a relief. Thanks for your help.”

I swung my trailer door until it hit the side of the trailer and snicked into the latch that held it open. Then I sat in the doorway with my feet on the step and my head on the cold doorframe. I’d left the radio on KLXX, and the dreamy guitar intro of “Strange Magic” by E.L.O. flowed into me.

Fennel jumped into my lap and purred in my face.

“Did you see what happened when Joon put that soil on my arm? That was from Red’s grave.Mom’s soil responded to me, Fennel. Can you believe it?”

“Meow.”

I sat up, and Fennel moved to my side. “I know. I can’t explain it, either.”

Vita.

Life.

Could it really be that simple?

I scooped up a handful of dry soil and pushed magic into it the way my mom had showed me. The way Abuela Lulu had showed her, because Bisabuela Lily had taught her, because Tatarabuela Beatriz had done the same.

“Vita,” I breathed the Latin word into my hand with the voices of all the witches before me.

Magic glittered over the soil, starting at my feet and spreading to the edges of the property. It looked like a sequin bedspread being unfurled beneath a disco ball.

It lasted for a mere second, and was only a flicker, but it was enough.

More than enough.

It was everything.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

Aweek later, I found myself on Mom’s porch, bare feet planted on the soil. The earth felt more alive than it had in three years, but it was still woefully faint when compared to before.

The speaker in the garden room blared “The Sound of Silence” by Disturbed. Cecil had hooked it up to his tablet, and I’d given him permission to access a music app. I’d have preferred some Eagles, especially at seven in the morning, but I wasn’t in charge of the tunes today.

“Vita,” I whispered.

I slid off the porch and sat cross-legged on the soil. With cupped hands, I slowly dug a hole, my hands at first meeting resistance in the dead and dry earth then finding pliancy. My fingertips tingled as I plunged them in the dirt, the feeling gliding up my arms, cresting my shoulders, and twirling down my spine.

It felt good to run my fingers through the earth, to connect with the parts of it that resonated with my magic, even if it was a weak connection.

“Don’t Tell Me” followed “The Sound of Silence.” Cecil was apparently working his way through his entire Disturbed playlist.

I sang along, the sun warming my back, a light wind cooling the dampness on my brow. Before long, I’d widened the hole until it reached the steppingstones Mom and I had crafted with cement and bits of glass, quartz, and polished stones leftover from the fireplace surround.

“Thank you for supplying us with the materials for the fireplace,” I said to the earth. “I have so many beautiful and frustrating memories of building it with her.”

The ground rumbled, and a jolt of pure joy surged through me.

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