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“When he was gone those three days, I panicked a little and recited a few charms from that grimoire you sent me. But I had no idea what the heck I was doing. What if I cursed him?”
“You didn’t curse him, of that I’m sure.”
“Why did I even think I could try magic again? I am so bad at it. I wish I had no ability at all so at least I couldn’t screw up so royally.”
Esme sat down at the rustic kitchen table and urged Willow to take the next chair.
“Willow, do you think anyone with talent or abilities got it right the first time? Did Michelangelo pick up a paintbrush one day and create the masterpiece in the Sistine Chapel the next?”
“No,” Willow conceded reluctantly.
“Of course not. So what makes you think, just because you have magical blood, you can perform like witches who’ve been at it for centuries?”
“Bliss and Ivy never blow things up or send someone’s car keys into another dimension.”
“Bliss and Ivy are more even tempered than you. And don’t worry. Mrs. Abernathy got her keys back the same afternoon. Willow, you’ve always been extremely emotional. Anything you’ve ever tried had to be perfect the very first time, or you’d get upset and frustrated. It’s a wonder you learned how to tie your own shoes.”
“I do bunny ears,” said Willow, looking down at her boots. Even now, she had little patience for laces and preferred slip-ons.
“You always wanted to skip the learning phase. I remember you getting so upset when you didn’t get things right and that just made your magic act up even more. It was a vicious cycle. A spell would go haywire and you’d get mad at yourself, then you’d try again in a bad mood, which is never a good idea.”
“Maybe I’m the one that’s cursed.”
“No, Pumpkin. You just need to give yourself a little grace. Discovering one’s abilities is as unique as the individual herself. You’ve been magicking from a place of fear and over-stimulated emotions. Once you set all that aside and learn to control your feelings, I think you will be a very powerful witch. Maybe even more powerful than Bliss and Ivy put together.”
The kettle whistled then, and Esme turned off the fire, pouring the water over the tea leaves. Willow loved watching her mother make tea. The flow of her arms measuring the leaves like a ballerina, the graceful way she maneuvered with the teapot as if it were an extension of her own body. Esme was Stevie Nicks, Ginger Rogers, and Lady Gaga all rolled into one incredibly beautiful and extraordinary witch. But most of all, she was the best mother Willow could ever hope for.
“Don’t worry,” Esme said. “I believe everything happens for a reason. And if divine destiny put Montgomery in your path, then it’s all going to work out the way it’s meant to be.”
Esme always did know how to make someone feel better, even if they had feelings for a sort-of living ghost who might be a zombie. But actually not a zombie because zombies aren’t real, and if they were real, they didn’t have strong arms and kissable lips.
Willow probably had a gloomy expression on her face, and so she decided to hide behind her hands. But Esme ignored those hands and gathered her into a warm, motherly hug. Then she kissed her forehead, and peeled Willow’s hands down so she could look her in the eye. As she did so, Willow’s sweater sleeve slipped down her arm a little bit, exposing the shiny bracelet on her wrist.
“What’s this?” asked Esme, a little curious because Willow wasn’t much of a jewelry person. Too much of a hazard in her case.
“Oh it’s from the Mysthaven’s Women’s Business Council,” Willow said. “I get discounts and freebies in town with it.”
Willow hadn’t actually gotten any discounts or freebies yet, but she didn’t get out much with so much work and a haunting to deal with.
“May I see that a little closer?” asked Esme. She turned Willow’s wrist, bending and squinting to get a good look at the bracelet. “Who did you say gave this to you?”
“Um, the ladies at the Women’s Council. They all had one.”
This seemed to trouble Esme. “Is there an inscription?”
“I think there was a floral pattern or something. I can check if you want.” Willow turned the band around her wrist, looking for the clasp, but realized the bracelet was solid all the way around. It was too snug to have fit over her hand and she couldn’t remember how Jewels got it on her. There had to be a hidden clasp somewhere.
“That’s funny,” she puzzled. “It’s like finding the end of a tape roll.”
“Here, let me try,” Esme offered. But she didn’t have any luck either.
“Do you have any butter?” Willow was trying to squeeze the bracelet over her hand now, but her pesky thumb was in the way.
“We don’t need butter,” said Esme, and flicked her fingers like she always did when she wanted something done easily. But nothing happened.
Furrowing her brow, she flicked her fingers again, this time with a more dramatic woosh, and the bracelet made a ringing sound. The sound reminded Willow of a sword unsheathed from a metal scabbard.
Esme took a step back aghast. “This is a fetich. We have to get this off of you immediately.”
