Page 35 of Love's a Witch
“Oh, Sloane’s going to hate that,” Nova mused, crunching on her bagel. “She’s a planner.”
“Oh goddess, she’s going to be a nightmare,” Lyra agreed, and my head swiveled between the two.
“That’s what you’re concerned about at the moment? Not that I’ll burn the house down around us?”
“Doubtful. Broca’s got this place charmed to the high heavens, don’t you?” Lyra peered around me at Broca, who nodded.
“Who was the other witch?”
“The other witch?” Broca looked away pretending to not know what I was asking. I felt the ground drop out from under me.
“It’s Mum, isn’t it?” I asked.
At that, Lyra and Nova both stilled, their banter dropping away, and we became a unit like we’d been for years now.
“Aye, lass. It is your mother. But she didn’t particularly seem to mind. The unpredictability of her magick fed something in her that made her lean into the erratic nature of it.”
My sisters and I looked at one another, each affirming something we’d seemingly chosen to overlook.
“She always told us she liked doing different things with her magick. That it made her more powerful than others.” Nova’s lower lip pushed out.
“Why didn’t we ever question that?” Lyra’s brow furrowed. “Like, now that I think about it… she was really, really chaotic to be around.”
“She loved the drama of it all. She played into it, didn’t she?” I murmured, my hand at my mouth.
“It was her way of coping with never knowing what she would be dealing with each day.” Broca’s face was sympathetic, even though I knew she didn’t particularly care for how our mother had treated us.
“Will that be me, then? Am I going to smash plates and blow things up just to see if I can?” I asked Broca.
“Unlikely.” Broca chuckled, the sound soothing some of my tension. “Your personality is far different from your mother’s. She leaned into it, a rebellion of sorts, and I have to believe that is why your father finally left.”
“He left?” Lyra demanded, leaning forward.
“She always told us she kicked him to the curb. Didn’t need no man and all that,” Nova said.
“Yes, well, everyone has their version of events, don’t they?” Broca’s tone was crisp.
“She drove him away.” My voice was but a whisper, but it all made so much more sense now. My mother had always painted herself the victim, and for me the memories were a blur of arguments and magickal explosions, but those moments began to shift in my mind as I tried to look at them from an adult viewpoint.
“In some respects, yes. But your father wasn’t an easy man either. They weren’t well matched, even though their love was strong. It was fire meeting fire, and they burned each other out.
“I’d say it’s saddest for the three of you, as you all got burned.” Wehadgotten burned, but we’d somehow come out of that stronger.While we were so different as sisters, we’d always been a team. And that was because of the woman in front of me.
“We had you, though.” I gave Broca a warm smile. “You saved us.”
“I did the best I could.” Broca smiled back. “You girls have brought nothing but joy to me, and I’m honored that I’ve been able to be a part of watching you grow into such lovely young women.”
“Och, Broca, you’re going to get me going.” Lyra fanned her hands in front of her eyes.
“So what happens to Sloane now? She can’t use her magick?” Nova scooped up a bit of cream cheese on her finger, and Blue almost convulsed with excitement when she held it out for him to lick.
“She can use it as much or as little as she wants. It’s just… she’ll never know what she’s getting until she tests it.”
I looked down at my hands like they were lethal weapons.
My sisters weren’t wrong. I was a planner as much as I could be, given the hand I’d been dealt, and my twenty-fifth birthday and the promise of magick had always loomed over me—the unknown keeping me up some nights. Last night, after the cèilidh, I’d come home and felt an odd sense of peace that I hadn’t felt in a really long time. Even if my magick was considered basic by the Charms, I had been pleased; it had been something I could understand and easily manipulate.
I hated that I now had to be on edge, never knowing what each morning would bring.
