Page 15 of The Woodsmoke Women's Book of Spells
Gregory slinks in last, grabs the bowl of popcorn, and proceeds to eat half of it before passing it to Rashid.
“Cheers, mate. What did you think of the book?” Rashid asks.
“Can’t say I’m a fan of World War I romances, but I tried my best,” Gregory replies.
Jess stifles a snort as Dawn presses her lips into a thin, disapproving line. Then, unexpectedly, Gillian rambles in, rummaging in her tote bag for a battered paperback copy of the book. “Sorry, everyone, nightmare leaving the house. Good book, though, isn’t it?” She takes a seat right beside Jess, and Jess is reminded of all the times at school when Gillian would sit too close to her, or bump into her as they walked side by side. Gillian never quite got the hang of personal space. Jess smiles at her, pushing down that old, familiar irritation, and lifts her chin to beam around at the gathering with her best librarian smile.
“Well, now we’re all here, I’ll just pass out the question sheets...” She shuffles around the circle, heading out the sheets of paper, as everyone pulls out reading glasses to have a look or, inGregory’s case, to fold the paper into quarters to use as a coaster for his second glass of bubbly. “Who’d like to start?”
Jess manages to keep the conversation focused on the book for a decent fifteen minutes.
Then Betty mentions the frost. “Early this year. Everyone’s saying it.” She pops a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “I bet it’s something to do with the Morgans.”
“You blame everything on the Morgan women, Betty,” Hayley says. “Not everything in this town links back to them. Didn’t we all have a lovely summer?”
“Tricia Richmond lost her voice for a month!” Betty says, aghast. “I wouldn’t imagine she called it a good summer.”
“Tricia had acold,” Sylvia explains, side-eyeing Jess. “Now, shall we get back to the discussion?”
“Early frost decimated my squashes,” Rashid says. “I’m with Betty. All seems a bit odd.”
Jess sighs as Dawn tries fruitlessly to turn the conversation around. “What do we all think about the themes in the book—”
“Of course, it’s because that young Morgan girl has returned,” Betty says firmly. “I always said she’d be trouble.”
“Always a little strange in school,” Gillian agrees. “Haven’t seen her, though, have we, Jess?”
“Carrie Morgan is just carrying out Ivy’s wishes,” Annie says, shooting Jess a reassuring look. “The Morgans may be a little... different, but you can’t blame them for a change in the weather.”
“What about Cora’s warnings? The rock salt?” Betty clasps her hands in her lap. “Handing it out from a little wicker basket, she was. Knocked on almost every door in Lemon Yard. The Evanses, the Simpkins...”
“She has a point, I’ve heard that book is full ofspells,” Gregory begins. “Actualspells. And curses.”
“Can we return to theactualbook we’re discussing tonight please?” Greta says, but then adds, “Cora Morgan gave me a tonic for my cat last year, perked her right up when the vet couldn’t do anything. I’m sure that if we can’t say anything nice, we shouldn’t say anything at all,hmm? Besides,” Greta says, her gray bob bobbing as she taps her Kindle with a nail, “I was about to make apoint.”
“You and your points.” Rashid sighs.
Annie narrows her eyes as the four best friends draw together. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
As the book club descends into jabs and gossip, about the frost and Cora and Carrie, Jess sinks deeper and deeper into her armchair. She thought Carrie’s return might not affect her. She thought that, just maybe, they might avoid each other all winter. But it’s clear that Carrie is invading every part of her life already. Sylvia catches her daughter’s eye, raising one eyebrow before winking at her reassuringly. Jess raises her shoulders an inch to shrug in return, as if to say,What can I do?
Gregory leans over to her. “Great popcorn tonight, Jess. Could we have some crisps as well next month, do you think? I’m very partial to prawn cocktail.”
Chapter 13
Cora
Seventy Years Earlier
“You must understand, girls, this book is not a toy.” Cora watches as her mother carefully turns the pages, showing her and Ivy the looping writing inside. She is consumed by it, by the sketched illustrations, the titles for each story, the added observations from different Morgan women, the annotated notes in the margins. The history is layered in theMorgan Compendium, a book containing multitudes, containing whole worlds. Containing, she believes, real magic. Cora leans in closer, sure that her mother is finally sharing the secrets she knows are just beyond her fingertips. Where the mountains touch the sky, where the trees lean together, whispering and hiding the old ways beneath them.
Grandmother Tabitha has died, aged one hundred and a day, on All Hallows’ Eve no less, and the book will now pass from grandmother to granddaughter. It will pass to ten-year-old Cora or twelve-year-old Ivy, and Cora cannot contain the excitement in her chest.
But Ivy is fidgeting beside her.
“Stop that,” Cora murmurs to her sister, digging her elbow into Ivy’s side. She doesn’t want Ivy to ruin this. Not this too, when she ruins everything else.
Ivy sighs, twirling a strand of fair hair like a ribbon around her finger. She lets it unwind, a faint corkscrew shape bending it intoa loop, before shaking it back to pin her gaze on their mother. “It’s just a book,” she says. “It’s the one Grandma Tabitha kept on her nightstand, with all the old stories and recipes in it.”
