My hair looks bleached at first glance, especially standing next to my sister, but it’s all natural. Our father has straw blonde hair and our mother has dark hair like Laney’s. For some reason, my genes had decided to wreak havoc.
“So, why exactly could I hear Juniper in my bedroom?”
“I needed your help, so I took the barrier down for a sec.” Laney shrugs, patting Juniper on the side before she stands back up to her own full height, which isn’t much. Laney is tiny. She’s always been tiny and she always will be. I’ve seen the girl wolf down enough food to give a teenage boy a bellyache and she still hasn’t gained a pound since highschool.
Perfect.
“Well, put it back up so I can go back to sleep,” I mutter, turning toward the hall again.
“Silentium,” she whispers. A chill runs down my spine as the power in the house shifts. “You know the words, why didn’t you just do it?”
“Not my spell.” I shrug.
“You know what today is, right?”
“Yes, Laney. Yule starts tonight.” I roll my eyes, pulling the ends of my sleeves down over my fingers. It’s chilly in the living room this morning.
“Okay. Just making sure.” She takes a deep breath, looks down at the tattered charging cable still clutched in her palm, and then throws it onto the couch with a look of disgust. “I need you to bless the house tonight. Marcus’ family is having a small celebration and he wants me to come over.” She pushes an unruly strand of hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear, looking at me with the ‘please’ eyes.
My own eyes narrow on her, I’m ready to lay into her about what a creep Marcus is when it hits me. She asked me to bless the house. My jaw goes slack and whatever I was about to say dies on the tip of my tongue.
“You want me to what?”
Laney sighs dramatically and moves toward the kitchen. Juniper stalks off, probably looking for Beezlebub to annoy, and I follow Laney apprehensively.
“The spell is on the fridge.” She points to the piece of paper secured by a small pentagram shaped magnet. I squint at the tiny cursive lettering and nod, sliding a hand into my hair at the base of my neck. No one has ever asked me to do anything like this before on my own. I’m not a null, but I’m also not talented. This feels . . . great. “It’s really important to invoke the Moon’s protection through the long nights, Bug. Please don’t forget.” Laney glances from me to the spell on the fridge, worry creasing her brow.
The dark circles under her eyes worry me. I want to lecture her about being irresponsible, but I can’t. She trusts me to bless the house.
“What do you think is going to get us if we don’t protect the house during Yule?” I snicker lightheartedly. “The boogeyman?”
“Bug,” she whines. “Do I need to stay home and do it? I’ll just tell Marcus I can’t come.”
I throw my hands out over hers and shake my head. “No, no! I got it! It’s fine.” I don’t tell her that her boyfriend is a mega creep who thinks he can flirt with anything that moves, including her sister. I don’t tell her I’m a nervous wreck over her trusting me with this. I don’t want anything to ruin this moment, even if that’s selfish.
“Are you sure?” She points to a smaller piece of paper tacked to bottom of the spell. “This is a list of herbs we don’t have at the house and need for the spell. You’ll probably have to go into town to get them.”
“No problem.” My mouth stretches wide with a grin. Not only over the fact that Laney is asking me to do this, but also over the fact that she’s so damn nervous about it. It’s a simple blessing. How fucking hard could it be? But I’m too excited to be offended.
Laney rubs her temples, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the skin as she groans. “Okay, I have to go get ready. You promise you’ve got this?”
“Yesssss,” I drawl out. “Shoo.”
Laney walks out of the kitchen and disappears down the hall. Scanning the list of ingredients one more time, I make a mental note to get into town before sunset. The herbalist—Greda—is a traditional old witch and will be at home preparing for Yule as soon as the moon rises.
Send.
There. At least the invoice for the project was finally done. Once I receive the funds, I can release the full file to the artist. I’m really proud of my work on that track. Even though the idea belongs solely to the artist, being a part of the creation process is amazing. Every time I open an email from a happy client, a warmth spreads through me. An even sweeter feeling rushes through me whenever I get an email from someone saying they were recommended by a happy client.
I guess I’m so used to fucking everything up, I cling to any kind of positive feedback I can get my greedy fingers on.
Some of my clients aren’t ever going to be big names. That’s just the nature of the business. Music is ridiculously hard to break into. But I’m equally proud of the small-town bands who buy my pre-made clips for their songs.
“There’s a way to make money off anything on the internet,” I laugh as Beezelbub lands on top of my head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His wings rub together, a soft but aggravating sound that reverberates through my ear.
“What?” I hiss, swatting at my head.
Fumbling for my phone, terror seizes me before I even pull the screen up to my face. Oh my Goddess, it’s so fucking late! I check the time, just to reinforce how fucked I am before I cringe, leaping from the chair and out the bedroom door. I snatch my keys from the bowl by the door and rush toward the car, still pulling my jacket around my shoulders. I’m not even sure where Beezlebub is at this point, I’m so frantic.
My feet slide across a particularly icy portion of the driveway and I curse under my breath, throwing my hands out to catch my balance before fall flat on my ass.
“Laney trusted you, you fucking idiot,” I groan as I slide the key into the ignition. The sun behind the trees glows the dark orange that it does at sunset. There’s no way I’m going to make it to the shop in time, I realize, with a heavy heart. I pull my phone from my pocket and bring up the number for the herbalist.
Maybe if I can catch her before she leaves, she’ll wait.
Ring!
Ring!
Ring!
Ring!
A crackling sound like a candy being unwrapped comes across the line before a sweet elderly voice begins speaking. “Thank you for calling Thistles and Thorns. We are either closed or with another customer! Please leave your name, number, and a brief description of what you’re looking for and someone will get back to you as soon as possible.”
I end the call before the tell-tale beep can sound in my ear. For fuck sakes! My fingers drum against the steering wheel as I stare at the house and wonder what to do. There’s got to be something I can substitute the missing ingredients with; there usually is.
The key snags in the ignition before it finally releases and I pop the car door open, trekking back across the driveway to the front door. My hand twists the knob and I realize in my hurry to leave I didn’t lock the door. Stupid.
I kick off my now snow-covered shoes and make my way into the kitchen, opening the cabinet that reveals two different spice racks. One holds herbs and spices used for cooking, one holds herbs used for witching. There’s some crossover, especially with things like sage, but for the most part, we keep them separated in the house.