“Good or bad?”
“Depends who you ask. The church ladies and Webb say you’re responsible for the miseducation of innocent children. But the kids think you live in a fairy-tale castle. A haunted fairy-tale castle, but the allure is there.”
The gossip feels like it should annoy me, but I can’t muster the energy. After little to no sleep last night (that didnotinvolve fitful dreams of the Warlock), I jumped out of bed at dawn to answer a frantic phone call from Carolina.
Cardiac event—stable now but—she didn’t want you to worry. You and Silas need to…
Ears numb, I didn’t hear the rest, and my skin buzzed all the way into town, like I was wearing a jacket of horseflies. I didn’t blink until I parked, and I know I didn’t take a full breath until I saw my mom was upright in her bed. Shaken, but alive.
“I’m glad you’re engaging with the town,” my mom continues. “I trust Silas with the day-to-day, but there’s no substituting the relationship folks have with their Farewitch. The recipes aren’t as important as the conversations.”
“So you’ve told me.”
“Are you still hunting through grimoires?”
“The Warlock’s library is massive, Mom. If I can’t find something in there to help you, then I’m a disgrace of a Farewitch.”
“I was the Farewitch once, too. Trust me, if you’re not careful, you won’t get any time for rest or pleasure until you’re too old to enjoy it.”
“But—”
“That’s why I don’t want you to miss me. When the day comes, mourn me for five minutes, then get on with your life.”
My shoulders tense with a chill. The air-conditioning is on extra North Pole the closer we get to June. And the solstice. “Mom, leave the catastrophizing for the church ladies.”
But my protest is as weak as she is right now.
Her wild halo of hair isn’t even braided this morning, and her under-eye bags are a full set of luggage. An oily sheen hides her irises, like bad store-bought whipped cream, and the veins in her hands pop against her pale skin.
“I’m just being realistic,” she says, her mayor voice surfacing. “Magic has limits and costs. Witches can’t conjure what we want out of nothing.”
“But this time, I know I’m close—”
“We’re alwaysclose, Honey.” She slaps a weak hand against her blanketed thigh. “Listen to me. You need to start enjoying your life. Not trying to prolong mine.”
“I see we’re all cheer and pep this morning.” Silas strolls in with a huge thermos of coffee he brews at home. The only coffee shop in town is the diner. Or the gas station.
My mom huffs. “Being mayor means being honest. You have to know what you’re up against. Like your Widow Witch problem. She’s been a force of chaos since before your great-grandmother Meemaw Hazeleen Frost was in nappies.”
“Speaking of stubborn patients…” Silas looks in my direction. “How is the Warlock?”
“Stubborn as molasses,” I say. But with the right ingredients, could be made sweet.
“Any luck on the culinary side of things?”
“We’re apparently bankrupt in the luck department.”
I’ve brought them up to speed to brainstorm. Operation Save the Warlock. Save the Mayor. We’re doing a lot of saving. Who in the world gave me the wheel here?
As my mom launches into mayoral housekeeping matters, Silas pulls three ceramic coffee mugs from his satchel. Matching, of course. But I lock the sass inside today. I secretly appreciate this new ritual. It’s a sense of normalcy for my mom, who is probably tired of consuming everything via foam cups.
But when he pours me a cup, I can barely touch it.
I can tell my mom has lost more weight. That’s the most unsettling thing of all. Moms and Farewitches are supposed to grow latitudinally with wisdom, love, and lots of birthday cakes. Not shrink. What the hell is happening? Not for the first time, I wonder if the Frosts are just unlucky. Wrong soil, sour grapes? Maybe the Warlock really didn’tgethimself cursed. Maybe he was only a man at an impossible crossroads.
His dour expression comes back to me, his reminders for me to eat something when he hasn’t even saidGood morningyet. A sudden warm rush of appreciation fills my belly, confusing the hell out of me.
“Honey!” Mom’s voice whisks me out of my thoughts. “Pay attention. Did you hear Silas? He’s doing valuable, on-the-ground reconnaissance.”
