Page 41 of Curses and Cauldrons

I trace my fingers over the letters of the name. “Ravenhurst?” I question. I don’t recognize the last name. This grimoire is obviously one of the oldest in the library, but it isn’t a family that currently resides in our town. And they’re not one of the founding families.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Dax gives an awkward wave, even though we’re only a few feet away from each other, and heads back downstairs, touching books as he walks past them. I check my watch. I have less than an hour before I need to get back to work. There’s no way I’ll get through this book in that time, but I’m going to see what I can accomplish.

I open the Ravenhurst book, drawn to the low thrum of magic surrounding it. The first page is a family tree. It's so small I’m not sure what the point is. It only has three names. Padraig, Niamh, and Briar Ravenhurst. Two parents and a daughter. There are birth dates listed, but no death dates. Briar, the daughter, was born in 1686. I stare at the name and wonder at the connection. Is thistheBriar Witch?

I frown at the name, tracing my finger over the dark ink. Whenever I hear stories of the Briar Witch, I’ve only thought of her in the abstract. As though that was a moniker and not her real name, but what if it really was her name?

I gently flip through the book. The beginning is full of recipes and gardening tips. Spells to keep pests off your vegetables, or to increase the size of the yield. There are other curative spells to banish a cold or mend a cut. For witches who don’t have a healing ability, some of the same tasks can be accomplished withpotions or even a simple tea with a spell spoken as it’s being brewed. This type of magic is still used today.

The handwriting changes in different sections of the book. Likely, this grimoire wasn’t created by Padraig or Niamh but was passed on from one of their families and added to over time. Odd though that the family tree is so small. That’s how our family grimoire is set up. Funny how I didn’t even think to look at it. Although that would mean going to my parents’ house and I try to avoid spending time there unnecessarily.

In the back of the book is a calendar of sorts, or at least a listing of important events. The summer and winter solstice, the spring and fall equinox, the dates of new moons, and even a founders celebration. Holy shit, they had those parties back then? That’s a long damn time to keep that painful tradition going.

The last page of the grimoire has a note about someone’s disobedience and the whole town being damned because of a fated bond. I flip to the next page, but there’s nothing else written. Fated bond. I frown at that. Kind of like the other stories told to coven children, fated bonds are a myth. My mother described it as being leashed to another witch who can use it to control you and steal your powers. I question every story my mother told me as a child, but I thought the false part of the tale was that fated bonds existed. What if they’re real?

I glance at my watch. “Shit.” I hurriedly put the book back in its place. Grabbing my coat, I shrug it on and take the steps as quickly as possible without making too much noise. Dax is still roaming the lower level of the library, and I offer him a goodbye wave. I’m nearly at the bottom of the grand staircase when I hear voices coming from the back hallway.

I freeze, my eyes darting around the entry for a place to hide. I’m not doing anything wrong, but my magic buzzes underneath my skin. Dashing back up the steps, I tuck myself against thewall where the banister ends. A laugh accompanies the click of heels on the tiled floor of the entryway.

“Are you ever going to have the talk with Josephine?” My sister Camille’s voice floats up to me. My heart stops beating, and my breath catches in my throat. I peek around the wall, looking down to see who she’s talking to.

“Never,” my mother snorts, and I jerk my head back, my heart taking off like a hummingbird. If she sees me here, it’ll be a shit show. Not in the coven house, but later when she has me alone.

“You will lead the family someday, and I have an idea of what to do about the curse.” Her voice is sharp, so callous it’s painful. What does she mean about the curse? An idea about what?

“I’m not saying that Josephine deserves to get rid of her curse, but do you really want the consequences of her not doing the ritual?” Camille chuckles as though this conversation is somehow humorous. My head is buzzing and I’m sweating even though my body is freezing.

“Josephine’s exactly where I want her to be.”

My mouth soundlessly forms the word “What.” What is she talking about? My stomach swoops uncomfortably. I just heard something I wasn’t supposed to. Even if I don’t understand it, I don’t want to think about her finding out.

“Oh, you’re still here.” Dax’s jubilant voice isn’t overly loud, but he may as well be shouting at that moment.

He cocks his head in confusion when I turn panicked eyes his way. Downstairs, my mother and sister have gone quiet. Camille appears at the bottom of the steps, getting a clear view of me pressed against the wall.

“Josephine. What are you doing here?” Camille’s eyes are wide and a little wild, like that time she got caught sneaking out of the house to meet a boy at thirteen.

My mother slowly slides over to Camille’s side, her face perfectly calm. At least to the casual observer. I know her too well. The ice in her eyes burns, it’s so cold.

“Josephine. Shouldn’t you be at work?” Her tone is clipped, even as she slowly buttons her coat, as if she has no cares in the world.

Dax is looking between all of us. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s not completely lacking in common sense. “Ah, my fault.” He laughs awkwardly, dragging a hand down his face. “I ran into Josephine on the street, and she helped me carry some books I was rebinding to the library.”

My mother hums and then snaps her fingers. “Come, Josephine. I’m sure you have appointments you’re missing. It’s not as if Penelope can skip school to help you do your work.” There’s a threat laced in her words. She’s not above pulling a twelve-year-old from school to work at the family business. Especially since she knows it would gut me.

With a nod, I hurry down the steps, throwing a smile at Dax. I appreciate the effort, even if my mother didn’t buy it. Francesca’s hand wraps around my bare wrist before I’m off the stairs, nearly making me lose my footing. I grit my teeth at the pain from her touch, blinking rapidly and breathing in harsh pants as she leads me from the coven house. Camille chases to catch up, grabbing my other wrist with a cruel smile.

The front door barely shuts behind me before my mother’s hissing at me. “What did you hear? Did you come here to spy on me?”

I expected the first question, but the second surprises me enough that I stop walking. My mother’s fingers tighten to the point where I know there will be bruises. Camille runs into my side and pain ricochets through my body. I swear Francesca’s pushing some of her own magic into me to make sure it hurts worse.

“I had a cancellation. I went out for some fresh air. That’s all.” She tugs my arm, and I trip along behind her, being towed like a young child. I hate everything about this. The way my mother treats me. The way I give in to her. The control she has over me. Some rebellious beast stirs inside me, and I yank my arm from my sister's hold. My mother is another matter altogether. There are so many reasons to fight her, but the most important argument not to is Penelope.

“Then perhaps you need a reminder of our rescheduling process. And to remember that I am the one in charge of this family.”

21

ROMAN

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