Page 116 of Book Boyfriends
“Awesome.” She claps her hands together. “No trip to ye ol’ local witch is complete without fro-yo.”
Head shaking, I open the door for her. The bell above the door chimes as we enter. The sweet scent of lavender fills my nostrils, and soft Celtic instrumental music drifts around the space. Books about magic and metaphysical practice, tarot card decks, crystals, essential oil products, and a hodgepodge of trinkets fill the shelves. Mini faux birch trees, piled high with gemstone, bead, and Celtic jewelry, bookend the register – almost eclipsing a young female employee in anI’m That Witchtank top.
“How can I help you?” she greets, her bright smile warm.
“We have an appointment under Georgia Lane with Glinda,” Hope says.
“Let me go check that she’s ready,” she says, rounding the counter and skipping toward a purple curtain separating the store from the back.
“Seriously? Glinda?” I gape.
“It was either her or Ursula. At least we know she’ll be a good witch.” Hope nudges my side with her elbow.
“These are unfortunate names to have to go into the witchcraft profession with,” I deadpan.
The staff member returns and leads us back to Glinda. An elderly woman rises to greet us. Her bluish gray hair is swept up in a top knot, and tiny spectacles connected to a chain dangle from her neck. The consultation room is painted in a lovely shade of desert rose, the pinkish walls making the small space cozy and inviting. A plush white sofa sits opposite a matching chair and a glass coffee table between both has a small tea service on it.
Glinda O’Brien introduces herself, explaining that she is a tenth-generation Cailleach, or wise woman. Her family, which immigrated to the US from Ireland in the early twentieth century, has a long history as healers, midwives, and women with other “special skills”.
“I come from a long line of women who knew how to get shit done, dear,” she says in a thick southern twang, mischief twinkles in her blue eyes.
After pouring each of us a cup of herbal tea, Glinda goes over the intake form with a series of questions. Her mix of sassiness and grandmotherly vibes eases me into sharing everything. The fountain. The wish. My book boyfriends. Even Davis.
“You have some visitors,” she muses, clapping her hands. “My nan once had a woman time travel from the Bronze Age, desperate to get back to the man she left behind, but this is the first time I’ve heard of people coming from other realms.”
“Other realms?”
“Now, dear, let’s not be self-centered and think we’re the only realm out there. There are infinite realms or realities, however you put it. This isn’t the only plane of existence.”
“But there from stories thatIwrote. That I made up.” I gesture to myself.
“They could just be that or more.” Mouth slanted into a nonchalant grin, she shrugs. “Though, that’s not the issue. Where the stories come from are not what brings you here. It’s your wish and how to possibly get these three men back to their worlds, correct?”
“Yes.” I nod, my fingers wrapped tight around the teacup.
“Finish your tea, dear, and we’ll proceed.” She smirks over her teacup.
Hope and I have a silent conversation over our cups. My comfort with Glinda aside, the way she says, “Drink your tea, dear,” is suss.
“It’s not a potion.” Glinda rolls her eyes, seeming to sense our hesitation. “It’s loose leaf. I’m going to read the leaves to help me in my assessment of your issue. I swear there is more propaganda against witches. I blame Disney. They’ve done more harm to the witch community than the Puritans.”
“They did haveThe Witches of Waverly Place.That was good rep,” Hope offers with a smile before sipping her tea.
Only Hope.With a snort, I drink my tea.
Placing the now drained teacup in front of Glinda, she brings the cup close to her face and examines it.
“Just as I thought—” She frowns. “The wish has been granted. Once given, it cannot be taken back.”
I scoot to the edge of the couch. “What about a wish undoing spell? I read about them online.”
“They’re more complicated than the internet would have you believe. This wish wasn’t from a spell, so the magic is different. Harder to undo and, sometimes, comes at great cost.”
“Great cost?” Hope clutches my hand.
“Yes. It also may require a witch far stronger than me. One with a proclivity for blood or dark magic,” Glinda says.
“Oh, I don’t like the sound of that.”
