Divorce, Divination and Destiny Page 3

  She reminded me an awful lot of myself, actually. Whip-smart with massive dreams and the entire world at her fingertips. So, if I could help her out just a little bit, I wanted to. Plus, it would be nice to have someone around to talk about normal, non-witch stuff, even if that someone was a genius high schooler.

  4

  Annabelle turned out to be a perfect choice for our store. And, thankfully, Cassida also turned out to be purely human, which was a huge relief for me.

  Up until the moment Grams turned that hair I’d found pure blue, signaling that Cassida was completely normal and utterly human, I wasn’t sure what I planned to do. Half of me thought maybe I would run, far and fast, terrified that she was another creature of unknown power out to get me.

  The other half would have wanted to track her down and see if she knew anything about Laslow, my grandfather.

  The truth was, though, that if Cassida had been a fae or if, God forbid, any other fae came searching for me in order to destroy me, I wasn’t so sure I could fight them off. The fae woman who had attacked us a few weeks ago, the one who’d been killing witches, had been fascinated by the power inside of me.

  But I had no idea how I’d produced it and, try as I might, I couldn’t produce it again.

  Every night, like clockwork, I sat down on the shiny wooden floor before I went to bed, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to conjure it. I wasn’t sure what it would feel like. Warmth, maybe, or some sort of electrifying tremor that wracked my whole body. I’d been so high on adrenaline, both from Hunter’s attempted assassination of me and the fact that there was a real live fae in my backyard, that I hadn’t paid much attention to what had made the magic come. All I knew was that I’d been angry.

  Very, very angry.

  And that kind of emotion was hard for me to materialize. After all, I’d spent years as a DA, cultivating calm amongst the scariest of storms and working to become nothing more than a blank face in the courtroom, espousing all of the reasons a criminal should go to jail.

  That personality didn’t jive with blustering anger.

  I was a little afraid that, without the exact right circumstances, I’d never be able to do it again.

  And my magic lessons weren’t very helpful for that, either. Even as the weeks went by and I actually started to learn and practice spells and potion making, Grams and Mom weren’t able to help me with that massive power surge. It was as much of an enigma to them as it was to me. They were witches, bound to spells and creations of the earth. Their magic didn’t work unless they channeled it through something, be that words or objects.

  My magic seemed only to work when it wasn’t channeled.

  “I’m terrible at this,” I sighed as I tried, for the fifth time, to light a candle. It was supposed to be a simple beginner spell, but I’d been failing to do it for an entire week straight.

  “No, you just need some…more practice.” Mom was fumbling for the words. She only did that when she was attempting to lie.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I know I’m bad,” I assured her. “Maybe that night was just a fluke.”

  She knew what night I was referring to without any further elaboration.

  “Why don’t you go help Annabelle with the line up front?” Mom gently took the rose-scented prayer candle from my hands, nodding toward the break room door.

  “Sure,” I nodded. “At least there I won’t be a total failure.”

  I strode out of the room and up to the front of the shop, where Annabelle was already handling the line like an old pro. The kid was no more than seventeen, and yet she ran the front of the store like it was her own business.

  So, deciding I was not needed there, I yanked off my apron and figured it was best to go for a walk and clear my head. Walks were my go-to therapy—a habit formed when I was a busy, broke law student who couldn’t afford to spend a hundred and fifty bucks a week to talk to a therapist.

  I wandered to the park, plopping myself down on the bench where I’d first met Hunter. It was a terrible idea, and I knew it. But even so, I sat there and watched the kids play on the grass while bikers and people passed me. Some were couples, wandering hand in hand, and others were alone, meandering the path or walking purposefully with their heads down.

  How was it possible that seemingly every other McCarthy witch had been able to grasp these spells at twenty-one, and I was struggling like a toddler trying to take her first steps? I sat there for at least an hour, diving inside of myself and trying to figure out just what was blocking my magic.

  What I’d done when the fae woman attacked had been extraordinary. I wasn’t sure what to call it since it wasn’t a spell of any sort, but the power explosion that had erupted from me was so bright and strong I knew I could have defeated almost any enemy.

  So why couldn’t I light a freaking candle?

  The questions plagued my brain, running around like a herd of spiders. I let them skitter about until, finally, I grew tired of the circles and decided it was best just to let it lie.

  I had no answers. It was an unusual state for someone like me, a woman who prided herself on always being right and always knowing what to say. Answers sat on the tip of my tongue like loose taste buds.

  Only, recently, I found that I had to grow used to the fact that sometimes, I just didn’t know. With Kenneth, with Hunter, with magic. There were no answers until they suddenly appeared right in front of me.

  By the time I made it home, the sun had already begun to set, lighting up the cottage with a pink and orange glow that looked like it came straight out of a fantasy film.

  The inside of my home, though, wasn’t quite so beautiful and cheerful. I found Mom and Grams on the couch with a cup of tea in their hands and a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table in front of them.

  There was a third steaming cup there, too, clearly meant for me. This was serious. Even more serious than when they attempted to cook.

  “You two have your stern expressions on,” I quipped. “I thought I was the only one who could look like that.”

  “You’re not the only one in this house who knows how to be serious.” Mom rolled her eyes at me, but we both knew she was the least serious woman in the whole of Portland.

  I plopped down onto one of the purple, embroidered floor pillows Grams kept scattered about the living room. They were a strange mix of traditional Indian embroidery thrown in with some flowers and the sort of dips and swirls generally found in Western art.

  Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, I dumped a hefty amount into my steaming ginger tea and then looked at the two of them.

  “We don’t do the silence thing anymore,” I reminded gently.

  “Sorry, old habits,” Mom sighed, waving a hand in the air like she could swat away the habits she’d built over the last forty years of my existence. “We want to talk to you about your magic blockage.”

  “Is that the technical term?” I laughed, trying to lighten an atmosphere that was anything but.

  “We used to call it human syndrome, but then that phrase became taboo,” Grams smirked, sipping on her tea. “Magic blockage seems accurate.”

  “Look, Shan, we’ve power tested you,” Mom continued. “I mean, even if we hadn’t, the two of us saw what you did a few weeks ago. Your magic is powerful. The channel it’s coming through is less so.”

  “So, how do I strengthen the channel?” I demanded, hoping beyond hope there was a simple fix to this, like some sort of witchy supplement I had to add to my coffee every morning.

  “You strengthen yourself.” Grams was always so business-like when it came to technicalities.

  I was a lot like her in that way. For a few minutes, I pondered her answer, trying to figure out how the heck I was supposed to get stronger. I could probably start weightlifting one or two times a week, or—

  “Not physically, babe,” Mom interrupted my thoughts like a creepy psychic. She wasn’t, of course. Just a woman who knew her daughter like the back of her hand. “It’s a mental thing. You’re
scared. You gotta get unscared.”

  “That’s not a word,” I pointed out automatically. “How does getting unscared work, though?”

  Grams pursed her lips, deliberating over the choice of her next words. “Deal with your demons,” she finally said. “You’re mad about Hunter and the vision you had of your grandfather. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say you’re also still pretty upset with your mom and me. Deal with that first, darling.”

  With that, Grams stood up, tea in hand, kissed my head, and walked out of the room. She’d said her piece, and now she was off to do crossword puzzles with Herman.

  Mom sat there for a moment, and I could see her green eyes analyzing me with an almost medical seriousness.

  “Are you?” she finally asked.

  I knew what she was getting at. But I still wanted to stall. “Am I what?”

  “Mad at us.” The surgical analysis disappeared from her eyes, and a tear welled up in the corner.

  What is it about seeing your mom cry that turns any woman into a scared child, no matter how old she is?

  I could tell she wanted an honest answer, though, so I sucked in a deep breath and searched the depths of my soul before I opened my mouth again. “Yes,” I finally whispered. “But I also know why you did what you did. I can’t stay mad forever.”

  Mom pursed her lips and shoved the tears all the way back down. “If only your teenage self could see you now,” she chuckled, standing up to come over and kiss the top of my head.

  “She’d wonder why the heck I haven’t married the Fresh Prince already,” I replied evenly. I’d had an obsession with that show.

  “You know, I bet there are others like you out there,” Mom said suddenly. “Other halflings. There has to be, right? I mean, Mama can’t be the only one who fell in love with a fae. We’re part of the same world.”

  Her words hit me like a massive hurricane. When the turbulence inside of me finally calmed down and I was able to settle in the eye of the storm, I realized she was probably right. Witches and fae had a history on this earth that far outlived human civilization. It was almost egotistical to assume that I was the only half-fae ever to live.

  “Where would we find them?” I demanded. “Judging by that fae woman’s reaction, we’re not exactly out and about, waving our halfling flag everywhere we go.”

  “No, I suppose you’re not,” she murmured. Then, her eyes lit up in the sort of maniacal way they always did whenever she stumbled onto a new idea. “The library!”

  “Huh?”

  But Mom was already off, whirling upstairs to go and plan out whatever insane idea had leapfrogged its way into her mind.

  “Be ready tomorrow at seven!” she called over her shoulder. “We’re going on a field trip.”

  Well, this could either be very good or very bad.

  5

  I heard Mom mumbling to herself for hours that night, even when I passed her bedroom door on my way to bed. From the way it sounded, she was having some sort of serious crisis in there, but I chose not to query her about it just yet. I’d learned pretty early on that sometimes my mother got ideas in her head and she needed a little bit of time and space to figure it out before she was ready to talk to anyone about it. Grams and I were the exact opposite, and it had definitely taken a little getting used to when I was growing up.

  What I absolutely did not expect, though, was to be rudely awoken at some unholy hour the next day, with Mom banging around in her room. I cracked open one single eye, noticing the fact that the sky was still very much a pink and orange color that indicated sunrise.

  “No,” I breathed, to no one in particular, before rolling over and trying to pretend that the loud banging was nothing but white noise. I cocooned myself in the fluffy, down comforter I’d purchased when I’d finally admitted that I wasn’t moving out of this cottage any time soon. Mom and Grams may not have been much for luxury, but there were a few things that I found absolutely necessary for basic survival. Number one on that list was a warm, fluffy down comforter.

  I had just managed to trick my mind into believing that the ruthless banging was just the sound of ocean waves crashing against the shore when my door was rudely thrust open. It smashed back against the light-lavender-colored wall, and I’m not at all ashamed to admit that my first thought was that I was in desperate need of a proper lock.

  “Rise and shine, sweetheart!” Mom exclaimed.

  I had my back to her, but I was sure her arms were outstretched as she gazed around happily. She probably already had a full face of makeup on and would look like a goddess compared to my frizzy, half-awake state in the mornings.

  “I don’t wanna,” I mumbled into my sweet cocoon of warmth.

  Without warning, though, my safety was suddenly ripped ruthlessly away from me, exposing my T-shirt clad body to the cold chill of the early morning air.

  “Too bad,” Mom whispered in my ear before she pulled the trick that I absolutely hated.

  When I was a teenager, I couldn’t stand to wake up on the weekends, just like any normal sixteen year old. Elle McCarthy, though, was no normal mother and had insisted on forcing me out of bed by eight o’clock every Saturday and Sunday, making me weed the garden, or go on a hike, or work at the store. She’d discovered pretty quickly that there was only one way to get me out of bed instantly so she didn’t have to spend hours trying to drag me from the comforts of sleep.

  Icy cold slithered up my back.

  An ice cube.

  “Mom!” I screeched, rolling over and shooting out the other side of the bed, rubbing the freezing-cold spot on the small of my back. I wasn’t sure what I was more horrified by. The fact that my mother still found it okay to stick an ice cube up my back, or the fact that I, a forty-year-old woman, still reacted like a teenager.

  “Had to get you up somehow,” she shrugged, tossing the ice over her shoulder, where Herman quickly pounced on it.

  “She woke me up, too,” Grams grumbled as she came around the doorframe. She was still dressed in her baggy, white nightgown, with a pink-silk bonnet covering her curls. “Elle, would you like to explain to us what this is all about?”

  A brilliant, double-wide grin spread over Mom’s features. Her shiny, red curls bounced in delight, and her painted-red lips lit up her sparkling, emerald eyes like nobody’s business. She shoved her hands into the front pocket of her ripped up jeans, kicked the floor with her black leather boots, and then uttered two words I never thought I’d hear.

  “Magic library.”

  It turned out, the library wasn’t just one made of magic. No, it was in a whole different dimension, hidden among the human world. Clearly, Mom and Grams had been there many times before, because as soon as we were all dressed, the two of them marched us out of the house and right down to the Portland City Library.

  Only, we didn’t actually go into the building. Instead, we went around back, to where two huge stone lions sat, guarding the employee’s entrance like they were worried someone would attempt to rob the library.

  I’d seen those lions my entire life, but never once had I walked up to them. Truthfully, even though they were stone, the things looked like they wouldn’t hesitate to rip out my throat.

  Mom and Grams marched right up to them, and Mom stuck her entire fist inside one of the lion’s gaping maws.

  “Mom, what are you doing?” I gasped, looking around for any possible bystanders. Thankfully, there were none, and the grassy field behind the library was perfectly clear.

  “There’s a knob in here somewhere. Ah, found it!” And with that, she turned whatever knob was inside the lion’s mouth, and the thing came to life with a massive cracking sound.

  The roar that sprang out of it actually made me duck, and I was not ashamed to admit it. I had no idea what was coming next. It wouldn’t have surprised me if the lion had leaped off the little stone podium and started attacking.

  “Charles, good to see you,” Grams said when the roar finally stopped. She was looking at th
e stone creature with fondness, the way she would an old friend.

  “Adora,” he replied. A deep, crackling rumble accompanied his words. The voice that came out of him didn’t quite match the small stone stature he possessed. It was Darth Vader level deep, and intensely scholarly. “Who’s this?”

  The lion indicated me with two white stone eyes, and then took a big sniff of the air. He tilted his head, confused, but then a look of understanding dawned on him.

  “A halfling,” he growled.

  Fear shot through me, and I stumbled backward a few steps. Even Mom was freaked out enough that she shifted her body to place herself between the beast and me.

  “She’s my kid, Charles,” Mom growled back. “We’re taking her to the library for the first time.”

  Charles pulled back at my mother’s tone and lifted one shoulder in what I supposed was the equivalent of a shrug. “Libraria, coming up,” he hollered into the aether.

  Suddenly, the stone podium he was on started to move backward, revealing a dark hole beneath it. As soon as Charles was sufficiently out of the way, a bright purple-and-blue swirl started to appear, whirling wider and wider until it covered the entirety of the hole.

  “Here we go.” Grams clapped her hands excitedly and then hopped into the hole like it was a lake. Instantly, she disappeared.

  “Grams!” I gasped.

  “It’s okay, Shan, it’s just a portal,” Mom reassured me. “Come on.” She grabbed my hand and yanked me forward before she leaped into the portal herself.

  Since it seemed like I had no other choice, I was just about to follow her when Charles cleared his throat.

  “You’re different,” he said when I looked up.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m a halfling,” I replied in annoyance. “What’s your point?”

  Charles tilted his massive stone head. “But you are different, even for a halfling.”

  “Wait, have you met any others like me?” I demanded, latching onto his words. They sure made it seem like I wasn’t the first halfling he’d met.