Page 3 of Spellbound & Speechless
When I run out of protein bars, I finally have to leave my cramped motel room. Food. What I need isrealfood.
Greene’s hasn’t changed since the last time I shopped here. It has what you would expect from a grocery store. Carrots, potatoes, that kind of thing—and the prices are better than I’m used to. The options may be lackluster, but at least I can afford to shop.
For now.
I could really go for a mango. Why don’t they have any in stock? Not even one? Are they out of season? Gods. What do I know about that?
Maybe…
No. We’re not bothering Mr. Greene about mangoes. I push the thought away.
Getting back to my roots. Grounding. Happy! An apple will do just fine. I’m delighted to be here, and Iwantto be here. There were other alternatives, like finding another job or moving to Los Angeles, but I didn’t. I chose to come home.
Maybe if I say it enough, it will feel true.
I pick up a bottle of oat milk and squint at the name. It’s not my usual brand, but it will have to do. With a sigh, I place it in my cart.
It’s not as if I can cook much in my motel. I used to love cooking with my mother and sisters, but between college and work, I never had time. The motel doesn’t have the tools to make a cozy meal. All I have is a mini fridge and a microwave. Cereal and oat milk will be good late at night when the town goes quiet.
Grounding. Finding our roots. Learning how to be independent in Starbrook. Happy?—
“Aspen?”
I freeze, running as cold as the oat milk. No, I’mcolder. I’m ice cream, or an ice cube, stuck in place as the familiar redhead approaches. Her dark auburn hair frames her face, perfectly straight. The brown sweater she wears would make her appear cozy, if her perfect posture and expressionless features didn’t push her a million miles away.
Rowan.
I haven’t seen my sisters since I lost my job, nearly a year ago. I can’t face them. Before, I was neglecting themformy career, and to lose the very thing that kept me away…
Well, that’s not really why I haven’t been around, is it? It’s my mother. It’s her ghost. They can’t understand that I see her in them. My sisters all live together, they run abusiness, and they’re happy—actuallyhappy, not the pretend joy I’m shoving down my throat.
At least, they look happy on social media… and that’s okay! It’s good! They should be happy. That’s what I want for them.
I’m happy too, I remind myself, forcing a brilliant smile. “Rowan, darling!”
Her eyes, so similar to mine, narrow. “What the fuck?”
“What?” I laugh nervously. “You aren’t happy to see me?”
“It’s a little like seeing a ghost.”
This is precisely why I haven’t left my motel room. The town is minuscule; every time I step outside, I risk being spotted by one of my four sisters. Out of all the sisters, Rowan is the one I want to see least. We’re closest in age, but unlike Maple and Juniper, our relationship is not always harmonious.
We’re nothing alike, and we never were. While I’m fascinated by fashion, glamour, and love magic… she’s always been more studious and intellectual, practicing forms of astral magic that are nearly extinct. Our differences made us clash, but they also made us best friends. Perhaps best frenemies.
She stopped texting when I stopped answering, right around the time of our mother’s death. Where does that leave us now?
My worries about seeing her have little to do with our rocky relationship and everything to do with who she is. Rowan can always tell when someone is lying to her. She has a way of seeing into the heart of matters, and I would rather hernotsee into mine.
Not right now. Not when I no longer know what my heart looks like.
“Not a ghost.” I pinch my cheek. “Flesh and bone. You see?”
She looks me up and down with her beady, scrutinizing stare. It’s one I know well. “I see.”
My fingers curl around the cart, sliding into the finger grooves on the worn plastic. “You probably want to know what I’m doing here?—”
“No,” she says, as sharp and blunt as ever. “You being here is great. We miss you.”
