Page 102 of Spellbound & Speechless
“I know. Ozan knows, too.”
“But it hurt,” I say. “It didn’t just hurt Mac; it hurt me.”
“You and Mac are both our family—but so is Ozan. Family fights sometimes. We have misunderstandings. We say things we don’t mean, especially when stressed, like Ozan was. Like we all were.”
“That’s the part of family I don’t want.”
Maple smiles her warmest smile, but it doesn’t fit the following words. “That’s too bad, sweetie. Life isn’t a berry basket. You can’t pluck out the juiciest ones and eat ‘em.”
I blink, somewhere between fighting laughter and pushing back tears. “I think the metaphor is getting lost.”
“We have to work through the hard parts together.” She chuckles. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”
I nod, wiping my tears on the back of my hands. “I know…really, I know.”
“What can we do to make you feel you’re part of this?” She fixes me with a serious stare, more somber than I’ve ever seen. “Or to feel more like yourself?”
“I… it’s silly.”
“It’s not. Or maybe it is—but I like silly. You can like it, too.”
I make a sound between a laugh and a sob.
“Anything,” Maple says firmly. “You name it.”
Mapleand I pore over the grimoire, staring at a well-known page: our great aunt’s potion recipe for a hair color change. It’s the same recipe I’ve used to keep my hair blonde, but now I’m going back to my roots—literally.
We have Maple’s untouched hair as a reference point.
I shine a light on her hair, and the copper color glistens under the light of my phone. “A little more gold fleck, I think.”
“Good idea.”
I know. It’s what everyone is expecting of me. I go through a minor crisis and suddenly dye my hair. How typical. I’m like every other woman, and I take great pride in it.
Besides, I’m a glamour witch. Nothing else should be expected of me.
When I moved to New York all those years ago, the first thing I did was dye my hair blonde. It was a small way of separating me from my family. Now, I need a change. Some of my sisters still dye their hair other colors, but this feels like I’m accepting myself—and my family. I’m letting myself back in, and Maple is happy to help.
I drop a few flecks of gold into the potion, and the color changes. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s nearly perfect.”
“It may not match my roots to a T, but it’s a start. Progress is better than perfection.”
“Mhm!”
“Bottle it up for me, please?”
“You got it!” Maple bottles the potion and turns her back to me, returning to the kitchen. “Meet me at the sink.”
My fingers brush against the grimoire.
The windows are shut, but a wind blows through the room, and a chill runs up my spine.
I shut the grimoire and step back. It opens itself.
“What on Gaia…” My brows furrow.
