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Twenty-One
Keelyn’s bright-blue Volkswagen Bug was easy to drive, and I was beyond grateful since this was only my fourth time behind a wheel. Mama tried to teach me a couple of times when I was younger, but after our car was stolen in a neighboring town while we attended the farmers market there, she never replaced it. After that, we only sold our products close to home and never ventured anywhere we couldn’t get to by foot or bus. It was then the townsfolk started calling us hermits and other supposedly unflattering names. Personally, at thirteen years old, I thought it was pretty cool I got to stay home helping Mama work in the garden all day. But to the kids in town, it was their first sign that I was a freak. Thankfully, Peter O’Toolle completed my training, teaching me how to drive his father’s old truck a few years later—another first we’d shared.
I steered Keelyn’s Bug toward the middle of town, parking next to a sprawling green park. The hills rolled out in waves, cutting the landscape into different sections. To the left were picnic tables and barbecue grills, and over the hill to the right were multiple sets of swings and slides. Even though today’s temperatures were on the chilly side, laughter filled the air as kids ran and played with their parents seated nearby.
I walked to a vacant table beneath a pavilion and spread out my things: the book, my notes, a map of Augusta I’d bought at the gas station on my way into town, and of course, another vial of black salt.
Running a finger over Genevieve’s name, I repeated my spell from before, altering it just a bit.
Seven crosses, seven times. Betwixt and between and intertwined. Show me the one who lives nearby. Blood to blood, let your spirit fly.
Instead of pouring the salt onto the map, I tossed it into the air, waiting for it to drop and settle on a specific spot. Instead, a gust of wind blew through the pavilion, knocking the salt and the rest of my things haphazardly to the ground.
“Shit.” I retrieved the items, spreading them flat and trying again.
Seven crosses, seven times. Betwixt and between and intertwined. Show me the one who lives nearby. Blood to blood let your spirit fly.
Another gust and another failure. What in the world was going on?
I gathered my things and rearranged them, needing to try at least one more time to adhere to the rule of three.
With a pinch of salt in my hand, I repeated my spell.
Seven crosses, seven times. Betwixt and between and intertwined. Show me the one who lives nearby. Blood to blood let your spirit fly.
This time, I blew the salt into the air, focusing the magic with the power of my breath.
The tiny black grains whirled before me, spinning themselves into a vortex before dropping into a collected heap atop the map. I bent down, noting the exact location before another gust blew it away.
Identifying the park I was currently in, I traced a finger down streets and around the curved lines that would lead me to the relative of Ms. DuWant. It wasn’t far from here, maybe fifteen minutes, so now all I needed to do was figure out what to say.
First, I hoped they would confirm their mother’s pseudonym and provide their real last name. Then, I prayed they could identify her source and, if so, be willing to share it with me, a complete stranger.
Shaking my head, I realized how ridiculous this was. Like they would just spill the family secrets. I sat back down on the bench, dropping my head into my hands. Why in the world had I thought this would work?
“Trust your magic, Milly. The goddess will never let you down.”
Mama’s words floated to my ears, carried this time on a soft wisp of wind.
I lifted my head, looking out to the sky, and saw puffy white clouds meandering across the pristine blue expanse. They filled me with memories of lying in the grass next to my mom. Did I trust my magic at this point? I wasn’t entirely sure. But I did trust my mother and all the wisdom she’d imparted to me.
I shoved my things into my bag, carrying them on rushed feet back to Keelyn’s car. A quarter mile down the road, then two lefts and a right, and I should arrive at my destination. And Mama was right—I could call on my magic to achieve my goal if necessary.
Veering back into traffic, I felt confident again, bolstered by the memory of my mother’s words. As I was growing up, she’d always known exactly what to say to help me through whatever issue I was facing at the time. I suppose that’s just what moms do, but somehow her timely musing seemed special. Intuitive even. And that was where the magic came in.
Twelve minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of the designated spot my spell had indicated and laughed like a fool. Above the door of the square redbrick building hung the sign:
PIKE METAPHYSICAL
- BOOKS, CANDLES, & MORE -
It should have come as no surprise, seeing as Ms. DuWant’s literary tendencies had always centered around the occult. But for some reason, I hadn’t pictured this.
The indie bookstore was clean and structured with rows of books lining the walls, all labeled accordingly on whitewashed shelves. In the divination section, separate areas had been created for tarot, I Ching, and pendulums, while a nearby shelf held crystal balls and black gazing mirrors in a variety of sizes. Candles were interspersed throughout the store, and the scent of incense hung thickly in the air, giving the shop its overall metaphysical vibe. The building was much smaller than the other I’d read about online, Merkaba Sol, but I tended to prefer this intimate approach, finding it rather charming.
“Hello. Can I help you find something?” A gentle voice sounded from over my shoulder, and I spun around.
A woman perhaps in her midthirties greeted me with a smile. “Welcome to Pike Metaphysical. I’m Isabelle Pike.” Bright-green eyes met mine, urging me to speak.
