That’s the moment I’ve had enough. “After how Momaw passed, did you really think Iwouldn’t?”
That shuts her up. But she needed the reminder. There is no sugarcoating this wasting illness into submission.
Farewitches are supposed to have decades of formal training, apprenticeships with other Witches as their mentors. Momaw wallpapered her old farmhouse with maps, and whenever I stayed over as a girl, she would point to places I’d never heard of, a wild story for each one. Through my twenties, I should’ve had time to keep learning. I’d start my training onlyafterI’d seen those storybook places, perhaps gone to culinary school in France, tried a barraquito in Tenerife, baked a lover a birthday cake…
All of the Frost women should have gotten more time. If I have to sacrifice some of mine so my mom can have more, then prepare the pyre.
Then I realize why my mom’s call settles so oddly in my chest. “I thought you’d be more distraught over the part where Iclosed the Apothakery.”
“Folks won’t wither and die if you don’t fill their orders for a couple weeks.”
“The church ladies might.”
“I’m more distraught over the company you’re keeping.”
“I can’t figure out why everyone is so afraid of him. Includingyou.”
She won’t like being lumped in with Gertha Fudge and the quick-to-judge church ladies. She sighs. The phone line crackles. I’ve caught her. “You leave the minute there’s a sign of something unsafe. You hear me?”
Everyone in Glasgow can. “Loud and clear.” I think about the rotting floorboards, the crumbling roof, the suspicious substancegrowing in the grout in the bathrooms, the black dust that makes me want to GoogleCan you get black lung from a butler’s pantry?
“You know, your father didn’t have magic and it made things so much less complicated. Simple.”
I stop strolling. She never brings up my father. She’s being… frighteningly nostalgic.
“And this is the first time Frosts have closed the shop. You could actually find yourself with extra time on your hands.”
Moment gone. What was reminiscing was actually an A+ subtle guilt trip in disguise. “Any extra time I have, I’m going to prepare my regular orders so I can drop them off whenever I head back into town.”And I’ll be scouring a library.
Her sharp huff cuts through the poor cell service. “Rest can be rest without being productive rest, you know.”
“Says the woman still managing the town’s sanitation schedule from a hospital bed.”
“You and Silas have been talking too much.”
I agree.
“If you don’t show up to visit on Saturdays, I’ll know something is wrong. Unless you’ve got a date or some such, then don’t worry about little ole me.”
So much for her pitching a fit.
“I’ll give you a few weeks to make this work. Eyes open, girl. Be smart, be careful.”
Exhaustion creeps into her voice now. We’ve only been on the phone a few minutes, but she’s already spent.
Like a good mom, her concern just makes my own uncertainty flare. “What if I can’t cure him?”
“Just remember to stick to the basics. In our line of work and magic, the right cure is usually the simplest.” Pause. “Just in case, hang up a horseshoe for luck.” Pause. “And eat your breakfast. Black coffee does not count, young lady. Dehydrates your skin.”
Here we go. Even in my thirties, I can’t escape parental lecturing. “Not much cell service up here in the boonies. I’m losing bars—”
“Remember, don’t leave dishes in the sink! You’ll invite nightmares—”
“Love you, too, see you tomorrow—oops. Connection’s dropping. We might cut—”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me!”
“I can barely hear you. Truly, terrible service out here…”
