In the words of one particularly feisty little witch, I need a moment to process.
“Stay focused up there, Merri!”I mutter beneath my breath, walking the familiar labyrinth of my bookshelves. “You have a job to do, Merri. Save the world, Merri.”The recollection grates. What do they think I’m doing? Fucking about for the sport of it? Playing tourist in the realm of men?
Thinking inappropriate thoughts about mystudent?
As if my teaching skills weren’t above reproach. As if my morals were so easily cast aside. As if I, Dr. Merrick Sutherland, would ever jeopardize my—oh, wait! The divination section. Excellent timing. Perhaps there’s something here for Miss Bonnivarde.
I select a few books and scrolls on Tarot and other ancient systems, many of them illustrated, which I suspect she’ll appreciate. Perhaps when I finally return to her, we can go through them together over tea, and?—
“Merri?”
I nearly jump out of my own body at the sound. Oliver, poking his head round the end of the shelf, wearing that self-satisfied grin.
“Whatin the holy orifice of Satan do youwant?” I seethe.
“Nothing.”
“And yet, here you stand. Glaring.”
“Not glaring. Merely noticing.”
“Noticing what?”
He nods at the books in my arms. “Quite the collection you’ve got there.”
“These are classicalstudymaterials. For mystudent. Who isstudyingwitchcraft, as you might recall. Sensing a theme?”
“Sure, sure. Yourstudent.” He’s got the tone again. The glint in his eye. “Hey, no judgments. Far as I’m concerned, as long as you get the job done, you and youreager, astute, marvel of a studentcan fuck each other off into the sunset and live a big, fat happily every after.” He laughs that laugh, shoots me a wink. “Well,” he tosses in, one last barb, wouldn’t be Oliver without it, “as long as your witch’s idea of happiness is spending an eternity in Hell.”
sixteen
LIZZY
I know I promised Dr. Sutherland I’d stay in, but after three days of moping around the house, your girl is a wilting flower. I woke up with a headache, my shoulders so tight it looks like my arms are growing out of my ears, and my whole body buzzy with some kind of weird adrenaline.
I need air. I need sunlight.
I need more weed, too, but that will have to wait until he’s back. My own attempts at dropping a note into the portal have been epic failures, the evidence littered around the basement floor. The portal didn’t even flicker. Guess I should’ve paid more attention that first night.
With no progress on the portal, I’ve been splitting my energy between the basement cleanup and Tarot practice, working with my new books and my mother’s deck. Which is a little weird with her ashes sitting in a box on the shelf, but what can you do? If she doesn’t like her new temporary resting place, she can ghost up and let me know.
I haven’t seen her ghost again, though. Just the visions. Random, but always similar. She’s in her basement witchy room, seated at the table, working with the grimoire. Writing new spells, testing things, taking notes. I can never see the writing, never figure out what the spells are for, but I can feel her intensity.
Whatever she was working on before she died, it was important.
The cards themselves haven’t unlocked any more visions, but they do speak to me, in their way. Whenever I touch one, the illustration comes to life before my eyes, conveying its meaning. Yes, even when I’m sober. When I look up the different interpretations presented in the books, they always confirm my intuitive thoughts. I guess that’s my channel power, coming in hot. I can’t wait to tell Dr. Sutherland about it.
If he ever comes back.Ugh.
Anyway, my card today was The Fool—a woman in a flowy red dress dancing alongside the edge of a cliff, surrounded by butterflies. She looks as if she’s about to take a literal flying leap, with no care whatsoever about what awaits her at the bottom.Time for a grand adventure,the card said, pretty much directly into my mind. That was all the permission I needed.
Surely as a scholar of the occult mysteries, Dr. Sutherland will understand.
And that, your honor, is how I ended up at the bookshop for a little doom-n-gloom tea party with Helena. Only this time, she didn’t even offer the tea. She put me to work unpacking and shelving books. Talk about doom-n-gloom!
“I’m telling you, Helena,” I say around a teetering stack in my arms. I’ve just finished updating her on Killroy’s visit the other day, which is still creeping me out. “The guy is definitely a lawyer. He’s shady as fuck. Where do you want these?”
“This way, dear.”
