Page 39 of A Witch's Guide to Surviving Halloween
I eye the open diary in his hands from where I’m kneeling on the floor, a stack of self-help books beside me. From what we’ve gathered over the last few days, the magic seems most upset by our immediate proximity. So long as we keep ourselves firmly planted several feet apart, with no intention of coming closer, the magic should remain a paltry hum.
“I don’t see how that’s possible.” I mark the top book down in my inventory and reshelve it right beside the bookworm who’s camped out along with us. “It’s not like we can ask her . . .”
When neither of them answers, I glance up to see two identical looks of concern written across both their faces, and I know my tone was more wistful than I intended.
I shake off the weight of their worried gazes and return to the task at hand. “Oh, stop it, both of you. I’m fine.”
“Clearly,” Lucy mutters, that single word dripping with sarcasm.
I prickle, but I choose not to respond and, instead, scowl down at the paperback workbook in my lap, the title stamped across the front in bold letters.
Here’s Your Map, Now Ask For Directions: A Beginner’s Guide to Self-Love
“Well, in lieu of solving the riddle, we’ll need a plan B.” Oliver sets the diary aside, opting instead for his matcha. “Which reminds me, either of you know the moon phase tonight?”
My face scrunches to the side with uncertainty. Usually, I keep close track of the moon, but the past few weeks have been so busy with festival planning, decorating, and anxious worrying that I’ve lost track of the days.
“Half waxing,” I guess, after some mental calculations, though it comes out as more of a question than a statement. I look to Lucy for help, who pulls out her phone.
“Yeah, that’s right,” she confirms. “Fifty-three percent, to be exact.”
Oliver’s eyes lift to the ceiling with his own internal figuring, bouncing back and forth as he thinks. “So, there’s still a week before the full.”
“Thankfully,” I breathe. It’s bad enough that this is all happening just days before Halloween, the day magic is at its peak. I can’t even imagine if it were a full moon as well. We might as well count the town as a loss at that point and move on with our lives.
“But it’s still building, and it’s more than not . . .” His words are quiet as he trails off in thought. His eyes squeeze shut, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his mind, reaching back in his memory for anything that might be helpful. All of a sudden, his eyes fly open, and he points at me with renewed energy.
He begins shuffling through the notebooks, news articles, and diaries spread out across the counter until he finds one he brought from his own stash of family memorabilia. It’s a thick leatherbound tome that reminds me of our own book of shadows, sitting closed and untouched on our counter since the night of the Witch’s Market. Flipping through the pages, he scans each one, snapping his fingers as he tries to think.
“Do you have a stock of the basics? Sage smudgers, moon salt, the whole thing?”
I shrug, almost offended, because what kind of a question is that? “Of course, don’t you?”
“I just moved,” he reminds me.
“Still,” I tease.
He rolls his eyes. “Bring them tonight, we’ll need them.”
“For what exactly?”
“A bread-breaking ritual. The whole thing started because of bad blood between families. A bread-breaking ritual might be enough to prove a renewed peace and sort of reconcile what’s gone wrong, counteracting the curse.” He points at Lucy. “You’ll need to come too.”
Lucy shoves a black sparkly fingernail into her chest. “Me? What did I do? I’m an innocent bystander in this whole thing.”
Oliver gives her a flat look. “Oh, please.”
“Well, I am,” Lucy mumbles, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes with a look so pointed it could be a dagger.
Oliver ignores her, which I must admit is pretty entertaining. There aren’t many people willing to go toe to toe with Lucy on her best day, let alone one of her worst. It’s quite a sight to watch someone so easily match her energy and put her in her place.
“We need a third to moderate the whole thing. Plus, you can build a protective barrier to keep any rebound in check if it backfires.”
Lucy hums with thought, already moving on from her death stare to seriously contemplate Oliver’s suggestion. I, on the other hand, am not so convinced.
Lucy glances at the book in Oliver’s hands, reading over the ritual he’s opened to.
“It says the ritual concludes with you each feeding the other a piece of the broken bread. I assume that means it needs to be edible, so that leaves that to Oliver.”
