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Gladys smiled. “You’re too kind.”

Devra closed the book. “Now I just have to survive until Christmas.”

She was almost at the front door when Gladys called for her to wait. The witch dug into the folds of her flowing blouse and, like a magic trick, retrieved a long black necklace. “Here, girl. Turn around, will you?”

“What is it?” Devra did as she was told, and Gladys began tying the dark leather cord around her neck.

“It’s a black tourmaline pendant. A protective charm that repels negative energies.” She finished securing the necklace and squeezed Devra’s upper arms affectionately. “It should keep you safe until you can cast your apology.”

Devra peered down to inspect the pendant, an obsidian-coloured, irregularly shaped crystal set in silver. She clutched it tight. “Thank you.”

Then she spun around and snapped, “You couldn’t have given this to me last time I was here?”

“I felt bad about my wayward spell, naturally.” Gladys shrugged. “But only just now did I decide that I actually like you.”

DEVRA

Devra returned home, the necklace tucked under her shirt and the spell book tucked under her arm. She plunked the heavy tome onto her desk and collapsed into her expensive office chair. She felt both hopeful and completely exhausted from the emotional roller coaster of the past few days. And there was still more work to be done.

She looked around her home.

The last thing she needed to do to rid herself of her curse was figure out what mattered to her most. Truly. Honestly.

She examined the open space where she spent most of her time, took in the four walls that brought her comfort and protected her from…what, exactly? The pain always found her, no matter where she hid. Every year, she suffered. But didn’t everyone, in their own way? The only difference was that her misfortunes were concentrated into a particular time frame while others had their wounds unpredictably spread out across a lifetime.

She ran her hands over the excessively large desk, took in the numerous monitors prepared to display lines and lines of code at any given moment. Her eyes were drawn to the bookcase next, which stretched across a wall where others might have hung art or photographs, stuffed full of academic textbooks and, of course, Squally, perched eye level with a vacant smile.

Devra rose from her chair and approached the VA. She took it down from the shelf, unplugging it in the process and triggering the cloud to seamlessly enter wireless mode, and placed it on her desk. With her chin resting on clasped hands, she stared at the little device.

“What do you think, Squally?”

The cloud animated. “About what, Devra?” It grinned and gave a small twirl for no apparent reason. Devra contemplated the thousands of hours she’d spent writing code, improving the interface, fine-tuning features, trying to bring this machine to life.

“You’re my life’s work. My legacy.” She exhaled. “You might even be my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend too!”

All those weekends she’d chosen to stay in. To type and read and reprogram. All the celebratory occasions she’d spent sitting at this desk, eating frozen meals for one. The passion. The drive. The obsession. The distraction. But when she imagined losing her job and this prized creation of hers, the idea didn’t hurt nearly as much as it hurt to lose Bradley. It didn’t compare in the slightest to the pain she experienced just thinking about losing her father. Or her brother. Losing what remained of her family.

Devra glanced toward the window, with its thick, closed curtains that blocked her view of the outside world. The bland grey material. There was no colour here, and there hadn’t been for a long time. Not a string of lights or a strand of garland. Her early childhood memories of when such images warmed her soul instead of chilling it were continuing to resurface. The joy she’d once felt when her father had placed the shimmering star atop the tree. The anticipation as she’d hung her stocking above a crackling fire. The wholeness as her family had sat down to a table decorated with festive candles. So much light lost to darkness. So many hours, days, years spent confined by these walls, these computers. It wasn’t wasted time. Not exactly. She was proud of her accomplishments, of Squally. She loved her work, after all. But it wasn’t the same kind of love.

And suddenly her life felt only half lived.

She wanted more. Wonder. Laughter. Joy. She wanted to keep remembering the good, instead of fixating on the bad. More than that, she wanted to make new memories she could one day look back on with a smile, to make the hard times still to come feel less unyielding.

She picked up her phone and sent a decisive text to the family group chat. Then she headed to the mall.

First, she picked out a few decorations. Two strings of garishly twinkly lights and some generic Christmas balls. She still flinched and shuddered and lost her breath at times. But she kept going. She picked up more ornaments, some to place in her shopping cart, others to simply examine as a form of exposure therapy. She wasn’t sure if it was the press of the pendant against her breastbone or her growing courage, or likely some combination of both, but every piece she handled held less power over her than the last.

Next, she purchased a tree. A scraggly Charlie Brown tree to start with this year, since she still had nightmares about that giant Douglas fir crashing through her car. Change would take time, but it would happen; of that she was most certain. After, she went to the grocery store and picked up a modestly sized prestuffed turkey, some potatoes and carrots, along with a can of gravy, and a can of cranberry sauce—her new resolve didn’t mean she magically knew how to cook. It took several trips to accomplish her tasks, with her ordering an Uber or waiting for the bus, and in the back of her mind, she promised herself she’d look into buying a car again.

In January, of course. She hadn’t gone completely mad.

While running her errands, texts came in through the family chat.

From her father: I would absolutely love to, sweetheart.

From her brother: Are you sure that’s a good idea? I know you’ve got a plan in place, but until then, it’s still Christmastime.