Page 11 of Justice & Liberty

But making ointments for bruises wasn’t a bad thing. It wasn’t as though page one was all about how to make a sexy deal with the devil while dancing naked in the moonlight. No, it was about where to find the best healing herbs andhow to dry them. I might not know all that much yet, but it didn’t strike me as all that nefarious.

It was immediately apparent, however, that Mom and all these Abernathy women believed, without question, in magic.

That much was obvious when I flipped to the end of the book to find, yes, a few empty pages, but before that, pages in Mom’s flowing script. Recipes for the teas she sold in the shop, to help with sleep and relaxation and pain and other things. All written with detailed recipes, and then, no joke,ritualsto make them. Candle burnings and chants and magic words and just...what the hell was I reading?

Mom hadn’t been crazy. She’d been one of the most down-to-earth people I had ever known in my life, sensible and smart and—and yet, she had clearly believed in magic.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed her journal and looked at the last few pages, hoping against hope that she hadn’t put her life in the hands of some magic spell, but no. It was all about appointments at the university hospital, and chemotherapy, and...and concern that maybe she should call and tell me, but then dismissing it in the same sentence.

She hadn’t wanted to worry me. She had been so certain that she would be fine by the time I came to visit for Christmas, the doctors assuring her that her form of cancer was so very treatable.

But apparently they had missed something until it was too late.

I turned the last page, hoping against reason that there would be something else, but there was...well, there wassomething. It wasn’t an explanation, but it might be even better than that. An envelope, folded in half, with my name on the outside.

A letter for me, tucked into her journal? Ouch. Had sheknown that I was such a nosy jerk that I would read her diary?

With shaking hands, I pulled the flap open and tugged the paper out of the envelope. Two sheets. Not nearly enough.

My Jaycie,

The doctors tell me I don’t have nearly the time I thought I did; somehow not even enough time to warn you what’s happening. I’m not going to have you draining your bank account just to rush out to see a dying old woman one last time. But I do need to speak to you, at least like this.

I know what you’re thinking. You’ve almost certainly found the family grimoire, and you’re thinking I was out of my mind. You’re probably worried I didn’t see a doctor, even though my best friend is one. Funny thing is, I might have had a better chance if I’d looked for a magic cure. Probably not, though. Sometimes, it’s just...your time.

And it turns out this is mine.

I’m so sorry, honey. There’s so much I should have taught you, but you already know more than you think right now. I taught you how to dry herbs and make the teas. You’re a better chef than I’ve ever been, so some of the old family recipes both in the grimoire and the recipe box have a better chance at getting use in your hands than they ever did in mine. My grandmother’s rosemary bread seemed to protect the whole town from trouble every winter, and she passed out loaves to everyone she loved.

You’re a smart girl, and you can handle this. I know what you’re thinking, but yes, the magic is real. It’s not silly superstition and imagining results that aren’t there. If you choose to use it, you can do great things. If you don’t, well, I understand that too.

Just know that as I’ve always told you, you’re as much an Abernathy woman as any who’ve ever held that grimoire before you. It’s yours now, to do with as you will.

I love you forever,

Mom

The words on the page blurred at the last few lines, but I was careful not to cry on the paper and make the ink run.

Bee joined me on the bed, curling up against my chest when I sprawled out on the middle of the night-sky comforter.

6

I realizedafter a while that if I just continued to lay there on Mom’s bed, the day was going to be over. I’d just fall asleep there and sleep through the whole night, and it was barely two in the afternoon.

So I dragged myself up, still clutching the grimoire and letter to my chest. Carefully, I tucked the letter back into its envelope and slid it into the journal, and then both of them into the nightstand drawer. It needed to be safe. Whatever else was true in the future, I needed my mother’s last words to me to be there to read and reread.

I’d go to the café, I decided.

There was only one “restaurant” in South Liberty proper, and it was a café that served coffee all day and had some simple breakfast and lunch options. I’d already eaten a bunch of pizza, and a cranberry muffin, and had a bunch of coffee, but being around people and having more coffee would wake me up and make me feel human again.

I could take another look at the Abernathy family grimoire there in the light of day, with other people around. Prove to myself that it was real, and not just a hallucination broughton by the stress of losing my mother and then moving a few thousand miles in quick succession. That was a thing, right?

Decided, I pushed myself up, dusted myself off, and headed for the door. Bee stayed on Mom’s bed, and that was okay. The house was as much hers as mine, after all, and it wasn’t like I could take her out for coffee.

It was easy to make the choice between my little car and Mom’s SUV—frankly, Mom’s was nicer. So I slid in behind the wheel and headed out toward town.

What was next?

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